Second Chances
by Tulip Proudfoot
Summary: COMPLETE: Continuation of The Nightingale Frodo and Iris ; AU with OC; Can Frodo stay in the Shire & find happiness? Please leave a review. It helps me improve later stories.
1. Forgotten Cookies

Title: Second Chances Author: Tulip Proudfoot Maximum Story Rating: R / NC-17 (off-site) Main character: Frodo Baggins Subject: Romance/Drama  
  
Summary: Continuation of "The Nightingale". Frodo and Iris Proudfoot, the new Hobbiton physician, try to build a life together, but will it last?  
  
Author's Notes: It is best to read both of my previous stories prior to this one, in order to gain an understanding of Iris's background. They are titled "Homecoming:Bitter and Sweet" and "The Nightingale". "Second Chances" is a direct continuation of "The Nightingale."  
  
Warning: This story is an Alternate Universe (AU) story with an Original Character (OC) which takes place after the War of the Ring and the Scouring of the Shire. It deviates significantly from J.R.R. Tolkien's story, plot wise, but (hopefully) stays true to his universe and characters.  
  
Chapter 1: Forgotten Cookies Chapter Rating: G  
  
"Iris," Frodo held her hands, "you saw what happened to me the last time I became ill. I am a danger to those I love. I have to leave." He pulled back from her and looked at the nightingale. "Gandalf and Arwen said I might find healing in the Undying Lands across the Western Seas. I've been given permission to travel there with the Elves when they leave Middle Earth." He turned back to her startled face. "I will not stay and endanger those I love. I will leave next autumn when Gandalf and Lord Elrond come for me. I believe Bilbo will also go with us, if he is still alive. There is no healing for me here in the Shire. I must leave, even if my in-most desire is to remain with you. I cannot stay."  
  
Iris shook her head in frustration, tears welling in her eyes. She walked over to the table and grabbed the birdcage, causing the nightingale to screech in distress. She strode out the back door, across the lawn and into the medical gardens. Frodo followed.  
  
Iris sat down in the shadows under the young willow tree Sam had recently brought in from the North Farthing. She opened the latch and gathered the frightened bird to her bosom, putting the cage aside and stroking the bird into calmness. As Frodo watched, she spread her hands, releasing the songbird into the night. It fluttered away and was not heard from again.  
  
Iris refused to see Frodo after the night of the nightingale's release. She couldn't deny that her heart was broken over the news that Frodo would be leaving Middle Earth for Tol Eressea within the year. It was as if she had only just found love, and now he was voluntarily abandoning her and any chance at a normal life in the Shire. Iris could not abide to see the hobbit which caused her such heartache, and refused any and all offers towards reconciliation made in the days following. She vowed she would not play the fool.  
  
This rejection disturbed Frodo more than he cared to admit even to himself. In unconscious retaliation, he retreated to Bag End, drowning his sorrows in unrelenting work on writing down the history of the Great War. Sam and Rose couldn't help but notice his hermit-like self-imposed seclusion and the fact that Iris no longer came over to Bag End.  
  
"What's wrong with Mister Frodo?" Rose asked as she rolled out cookie dough and cut it into little star shapes. "Did he and Miss Iris have a fight?"  
  
"I dunno exactly, love," Sam replied. "He hasn't told me nothin' about it. He's sent letters to Hobbiton and beyond, and has received some things from there and from the dwarves in the Blue Mountains. But he hasn't actually gone down to Hobbiton to visit in person. Last time I asked him to go into town he snapped at me like I asked him to jump in a pile of manure. Something is really eatin' away at him, that's for sure. He's becoming a recluse again."  
  
"Well, you know the doctor and he were goin' out almost daily for their walks," Rose continued, "and they haven't done that for several days now. In fact, I can't rightly tell you when the last time it was Mister Frodo invited her over here. I think he's broken up with her and he hasn't told anyone." She laid the cookies onto a sheet and popped them into the oven, taking out another one filled with circle and bell-shaped cookies.  
  
"It's no good for his health, I can tell you that," Sam said, closing his eyes and deeply inhaling the wonderful aroma of fresh butter cookies. "He does better when he goes out on those walks with her. Now he sits in ole Master Bilbo's study and scribbles away in his book all the time, getting more pale and thin by the day." Sam snatched a bit of cookie dough and plopped it into his mouth as Rose moved the hot cookies onto a rack to cool.  
  
Rose stopped her cookie-making. "You're his best friend. I'm sure deep down inside he's dying to tell somebody what happened. I think you aught to talk to him."  
  
Sam looked a bit dubious as he licked his dough-enveloped fingers. "I'll try, love," Sam sighed, "but there's no predicting' if he'll tell me anything. He can be like a clam sometimes. Once he makes up his mind about closing' up, it's right hard to crack open that shell. I might have to get 'im really steamed up before he slips and lets out what's botherin' him. That will make livin' with him mighty hard for the next day or so."  
  
"Thanks for the warning," Rose smiled. She arrested his hand before Sam could pinch off another section of dough. He chuckled and kissed the light of his life.  
  
Sam took a deep breath, wrapped a handful of warm cookies in a napkin, and wandered into Frodo's study. As expected, he found Frodo deeply involved in writing out a section of his book. Sam cleared his throat to get Frodo's attention. Frodo raised his left hand without looking up, and completed inking and blotting his sentence before putting down his quill and turning to Sam.  
  
"Hello, Sam. Have a seat," he smiled, gesturing for his housemate to sit down. "What is on your mind?" Frodo turned his chair around as Sam sat on the easy chair by the fireplace. The way Sam was perched on it, it could have been called an 'uneasy' chair. Sam offered a cookie to Frodo, who politely refused.  
  
"Well, you know, Mister Frodo, as me Gaffer's always saying', I'm not one for goin' the long way round when a shortcut is nearby," Sam nervously started. He set the cookies down on a nearby table.  
  
That got Frodo's attention. Anytime Sam voluntarily put away food was a cause for worry.  
  
"What I mean is, um ..." Sam continued, "well, I can't help but just blurt it out, and I hope you don't take offense or nothin, seeing' as it's purely none of my business, as me Gaffer would say. And he's one fer givin' out lots of good advice. But, well sir, to put it bluntly sir, why haven't we seen Miss Proudfoot 'round here any more? Did you and she have a fight or something?"  
  
Frodo's eyebrows disappeared into his dark curly bangs. "You are right, Sam," Frodo frowned, "it is none of your business." The last thing Frodo wanted was for Sam to learn of his secret about leaving Middle Earth. This was not the time to be discussing his predicament.  
  
"Well, whatever it is you're not telling me, it's probably not fair to Miss Iris," Sam blurted out. He knew what he just said was unfair to Frodo, but Sam needed to prod his best friend into telling the truth. And nothing got under Frodo's skin more than being accused of an unkindness.  
  
Sam's tactic was working. Frodo was clearly upset. He grabbed the quill and pointed it at Sam as if he were lecturing a recalcitrant Brandybuck tweenager. "Samwise Gamgee. It is not very polite to be poking your nose into my private life, even if we are roommates. I do not interfere when you and Rose have an argument, and I expect you to respect my privacy as well as I do yours." Black ink spattered onto his tan-colored breeches. Frodo grimaced and grabbed a nearby rag to blot up the stains.  
  
"So, you two did get into a fight," Sam was triumphant. "Look Mister Frodo, I don't mean to be rude, but we can't help but read each other's emotions when we all live under the same roof. And you've not been yourself for the past week or so. I think it might help if you talked about it some."  
  
Frodo threw the ink-stained rag under his desk and turned his chair back around to face away from his well-meaning inquisitor. "Sam, please drop this topic. I do not feel like discussing it right now." He jammed the offending quill into an inkwell and shuffled a stack of papers on the desk, trying his best to ignore Sam.  
  
"I will not drop it." Sam rose out of his chair and walked over to Frodo. He knelt at Frodo's side and forced the elder hobbit to look at him by turning the chair and Frodo, back around. "Me and Rose see how happy you are when you're with Miss Iris. Stars! You were even taking her flowers and beginning to court her. Now you spend all your time in here with your writing; never going out; never talkin' to anyone. You're retreating back into yourself again, like you did when we first returned to the Shire. What changed the good you and Miss Iris had, Mister Frodo?" Sam gently placed his callused hand on Frodo's shoulder. "You and me have been to Mordor and back. Sir ... you can talk to me."  
  
Sam could be so persistent some times. This was one of those times.  
  
Frodo knew he wouldn't be rid of Sam without an explanation. Frodo crumpled the paper in his hands and sighed, then threw the trash into the fire. "I guess I inadvertently changed our relationship. I said something which upset her terribly, and I cannot take it back." Sam sat down on the rug at Frodo's feet, awaiting more details.  
  
"Sam, I do not know what to do," Frodo looked off into the air above the fireplace, then out the window. "I feel as if I am two different persons sometimes. Sometimes I feel fine and confident and somewhat happy; almost like how it was before the Quest. But sometimes I feel as if a part of me is missing. It is like I have lost a part of myself and do not know which way to turn or how to even begin to find it again. Or if I do find it, could I live with myself knowing what that knowledge could reveal? There are things buried in my mind which should never be uttered for fear of bringing the evil back into the world."  
  
Frodo looked at Sam sitting so patiently cross-legged on the rug. Sam would listen for hours, if necessary. Sam had literally carried Frodo through the worst moments of his life. How could he tell this gentle, hopeful soul that he was leaving Middle Earth forever? Sam had saved his life – and to what avail? There was no solace. No comfort. No peace. And with Iris's rejection, Frodo's last glimmer of hope for healing in the Shire withered into bitter ashes. The worst was, he knew he had brought it upon himself. He should have never told her. He was resolved he would not make the same mistake with Sam.  
  
A look of infinite sadness crossed his face. "The stress of carrying the Ring wounded me on the inside, Sam, and I do not think I shall ever recover," Frodo continued. "I know I am a danger to others. I should not be here right now. And I do not want to expose you or Rose and the baby, or Iris or, well, anyone to what I still carry trapped in my mind."  
  
"Beggin' your pardon, but thoughts inside your head are not contagious like a cold or the measles," Sam spoke up.  
  
"No, but what happens as a result of my memories are just as devastating for those around me," Frodo countered, turning away from the window and looking directly into Sam's upturned honest face. "You have seen how sometimes my anger and emotions spill out. Especially when I am experiencing a recurrence of my wounding. I watch myself loose control, and that frightens me more than facing a balrog. I am afraid of myself. Oh Sam, I desperately want to lead a normal life again, like you, but I find I cannot. My innocence has been stripped from me and I fear I shall never find that comfort again."  
  
Sam shook his head and patted Frodo reassuringly on the knee. "You can find comfort again. You're too hard on yourself. You always have been, and now it's getting worse cause you won't talk to no one no more about it. You're the strongest, finest, bravest person I know. You're even smarter than Master Bilbo. But even you can't keep that stuff locked up inside your head without hurting yourself even more. And you know it. When you and Miss Iris were taking your strolls, you were getting better. I could see it. Rose could see it. I wish you would start going to the Doc again. She helps you get little pieces of that mess in your mind out into the fresh air so you can deal with it better. Please, Mister Frodo, it's truly none of my business what came between you and her, but for your own peace, you've got to go back to her."  
  
"Sam, I disappointed her. Now I do not know how to restart our friendship." Frodo looked dejected. "I do not have much experience in affairs with the fairer sex, and must confess that I simply do not know what to do. I have tried to talk with her, but she refuses to see me."  
  
"Well, flowers always work for me," Sam said, trying to be helpful.  
  
Frodo smiled at Sam's innocent statement. Could it ever be that simple? Would anything ever be that simple anymore? "I think it is going to take more than flowers for this one, Sam, but thank you for the suggestion." He turned back to his desk. The subject was closed.  
  
"Whether you two ever get back together as a couple is really a moot point, if you don't mind me saying so," Sam continued as he stood up. "You need her as a physician too. She can't very well refuse to see you for a medical ailment."  
  
"Sam, I am fine," Frodo protested. Sam was beginning to annoy him now with his persistence.  
  
"No, you're not fine," Sam countered. "You need to restart those walks with her and you know it." He knew he was overstepping the unspoken bounds of their friendship by ordering Frodo around, but he had to try something.  
  
"Sam, this conversation is useless," Frodo frowned and turned back a second time towards his desk. "I will consult with my physician when I think I need to and not before. Now please leave me alone so I can get some work done."  
  
Sam knew he had lost the final argument. The walls were crashing down around Frodo again. But there was hope. At least he had gotten Frodo to admit that he and Iris had had an argument, and it was up to Frodo to repair the hurt inflicted upon their relationship. Now if only Frodo would DO something about it. Sam left the cookies and exited the room. 


	2. Consulting Physician

Chapter 2: Consulting Physician  
Chapter Rating: G  
  
Private Mail  
  
Lord Elrond Half-Elven  
October 24th  
Rivendell, East Road  
  
Your Excellency,  
  
Please excuse my impudence at addressing this letter to you without a proper introduction. However, I feel that your love towards a mutual friend, Mister Frodo Baggins of the Shire, will override any trepidation you might harbor at receiving this unsolicited letter and my unusual request.  
  
My name is Tulip Proudfoot, and I am the hobbit physician in Hobbiton. Mister Frodo Baggins has been a patient under my care ever since his return to the Shire in October S.R. 1419. I am pleading with you for your assistance in helping me plan the long-term management of my patient.  
  
Mister Baggins told me about his stabbing and other injuries suffered during the Quest, and that you yourself effected the healing from the Morgul-blade wound. I am worried about recurring illnesses suffered by Mister Baggins on the anniversaries of his stabbing and venomous spider sting (Oct. 6th and March 10th respectively). He continues to exhibit acute distress at these times, and infrequently and to a lesser degree, at other times. His symptoms include pain, cold, tenderness at the wound site, numbness and partial paralysis of the left arm and hand, fever, and progressive delusional thoughts leading to hallucinations and unconscious actions. These actions are mostly re-enactments of traumas he has endured. They are frequently violent in nature, and are dangerous to Mister Baggins and anyone who happens to be around him during the relapses.  
  
I am working with Mister Baggins on the emotional aspects of his injuries as well as the physical symptoms. I can find no physical causes which trigger the recurrences of his injuries, and am assuming they are set off from remembered traumatic experiences he suffered during the Quest. I am treating the illnesses with herbal sedations and heat therapy when required, but am unsatisfied that I am doing all I can for my patient. He is on long-term treatment for depression through the use of John's Wort tea, which does seem to help. So does one-on-one sessions whereby he verbalizes his various traumas while under my supervision. However, lately he has stopped all treatments and has become fixated on finding a permanent healing with the Elves.  
  
Is this truly the only remedy for his illness? Is there another treatment you could suggest which might help? If necessary, I am willing to travel to Rivendell to learn as much as a hobbit is able about Elvish medicine. Anything, if there is a chance it will help Mister Baggins. Time is of the essence, as another anniversary date (March 10th ) is rapidly approaching, considering the approaching winter and the need to plan for travel time between the Shire and Rivendell. Also, Mister Baggins told me of your plans to leave Middle Earth soon. If there is any possibility that I could learn from you prior to your departure, would you be willing to train me? And if so, should I bring Mister Baggins with me on the trip?  
  
If you would be so kind as to reply to Doctor Iris Proudfoot, Hobbiton, the Shire, arrangements can be made. I am sending this letter in secret, unbeknownst to Mister Frodo Baggins, as he is at the moment in denial of the seriousness of his condition, and our doctor/patient relationship is somewhat strained.  
  
Sincerely, your most humble servant,  
Iris Proudfoot, physician  
Hobbiton, the Shire


	3. The Blacksmith

Chapter 3: The Blacksmith  
Chapter Rating: G  
  
October 25th  
  
Hobbiton was a busy place that autumn. The harvest was exceptional, and families were busy setting aside their hard-won surplus. All the stores along the small business section of the town bustled with activity.  
  
Theo Tuggle, the new Hobbiton blacksmith, was equally busy. He was an honest, hard-working hobbit of age 38, with typical brown curly hair and brown eyes. Theo was very muscular for a hobbit due to the nature of his work, and was considered by the lasses around Hobbiton and Bywater to be quite handsome. He had moved to town at about the same time as the doctor. The old Hobbiton blacksmith shop was burned to the ground during the occupation of the Shire by Sharkey and his ruffian men. After the ousting of the intruders, the old blacksmith had retired, leaving Hobbiton without one.  
  
It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for the ambitious young blacksmith, and he gambled everything he had by leaving the family farm and starting up his trade in a new town. He had even borrowed from his Grammer to raise up a new blacksmith shop a few doors down from the Green Dragon Inn. Mister Tuggle came from nearby Overhill, the only son in a close-knit family of farmers and laborers. His mother and five sisters cried when he told them the news of his leaving the family farm, but Overhill was not too far away from Hobbiton, and they could visit whenever they wanted.  
  
Now, with all the bustle of harvest and trading between the villages in the Shire, his blacksmith shop was constantly active. Ponies needed shoeing. Fences and gates needed to be constructed. Iron pots and pans needed tinkering and repair. He created lantern posts and pull rings, door hinges and gate latches, meat hooks and oxen yokes. There wasn't anything he couldn't design and make. With the help of Frodo Baggins and Peregrin Took, Theo had even initiated a direct supply of fine forged iron from the dwarves of the Blue Mountains. Within the short span of a few months, even long-established blacksmith shops throughout the Shire were purchasing their supplies from Hobbiton Forge and Ironworks. Everybody suddenly needed the services of the pleasant, smiling, innovative blacksmith. Leaving the farm and moving to Hobbiton was the best thing Theo had ever done.  
  
Despite his business success, he found his luck with the ladies to be less than he desired. The poor lad considered the village lasses to be rather forward compared to the farm lasses he knew from Overhill, and was rather reluctant to date anyone he deemed too forward or brash. As a consequence, Theo was lonely in a town full of quite-willing hobbitesses.  
  
Shandy Merryweather was in town, and Theo had a ready long-time friend to commiserate with. The two sat down to lunch at Theo's usual haunt; the Green Dragon Inn.  
  
"What brings ya in, Shandy?" Theo said through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.  
  
"Playin' at the Pig and Whistle tonight and then over to Bywater tomorrow," Shandy replied, digging into his own plate of cabbage and sausage. "I'm fiddlin' there with the lads at the Little Fishes Inn. Doesn't pay much, but I do like the lasses who work there, and the beer is free. We miss ya, Theo. Why don't ya ever come home to Overhill no more?"  
  
Theo rarely went back home for family reunions and holidays. "Well, Shandy, I'll tell you straightways. Goin' home is getting rather trying. My sister Holly constantly harps on me to see my old girlfriend and get married."  
  
"I thought you liked Corabell," Shandy said as he stabbed another sausage. "You and she were quite an item there."  
  
"Well, yes," Theo replied. "I think Corabell is sweet and pretty, but she was always so shy and, well, immature. And I tell you what, Shandy, this here Hobbiton is full of lasses who know more than just the workings of farm and hearth." Theo had become smitten with the relative excitement of busy Hobbiton compared to his former life on the farm.  
  
"Well, if it's sly, flirty fillies ya want, ya can't do better than the Hobbiton lasses, gotta agree with ya there," Shandy smiled. "But you watch these village gals now. They can get to be vicious gossips, livin' so close to each other and all. They know everybody's business, and don't mind talking about it in front of strangers neither."  
  
"I ain't had no luck with 'em yet," Theo grumbled. "It's not for want of them coming after me, neither. They are a forward group of lasses, that's for truth." He put his knife and fork down and contemplated his beer. "But Shandy, what I really want is a sturdy, steady lass who can help me better meself. You know, someone like one of my sisters, but maybe with some learning. You know. Can read and write and sing and stuff. Someone who's got a good reputation here in Hobbiton, but isn't useless."  
  
"Whatcha mean, not useless?" Shandy questioned.  
  
"Someone who can raise chickens and goats and knows the ways of the weather." Theo was staring off into space. "Someone who can mend a shirt or soothe a stomachache."  
  
"Sounds like yer mother," Shandy smirked.  
  
"No," Theo grabbed his fork and stabbed a slice of turnip. "Not like my mother. Someone ... well, you know ... someone who can help me better meself."  
  
"Theo, you are most peculiar," Shandy laughed. "What? You want to find a country lass who is book-learned too. You want someone who can mend yer weskit and teach ya to read, as well as have high social standing in the Hobbiton upper-class. And she has ta be a looker too, knowin' yer taste in the ladies, and not mind raisin' a pastle o' children. Yer never gonna find someone like that. Why don't cha just settle down with someone ya love and see what comes after that? Someone like Corabell."  
  
"Now you sound like me sister!" Theo countered. "I'll find someone right for me. I'll meet a nice, pretty lass, jump the broom, and raise a gaggle of children on a little acreage here near Hobbiton. And we'll get invited to high tea with the Widow Weatherby and hob-knob with the Mayor and such lot."  
  
"You sound like you want ta be just like Samwise Gamgee," Shandy said.  
  
"Yes!" Theo pointed with his knife. "I want to better myself the way Master Gamgee's done. He's got Bag End now, and a bairn on the way. He can read and everyone respects him and his lot, even though he's just a gardener. I want someone like his Rose Cotton. She used to work here before she got herself in tha family way. Does she have any sisters?"  
  
"Na," Shandy said, "only brothers. Look, Theo, why bother with all this nonsense about betterin' yerself? You've already done a sight of betterin' yerself by movin' out of Overhill and startin' up all this trade with the dwarves."  
  
"Well, yes, but that's just business stuff," Theo mused. "It don't get me into society." He turned a keen eye on his musician friend. "You get around to all the pubs. You know everybody and their cousins. Know any lasses in the area who might fit what I'm lookin' for?"  
  
Shandy took a sip of his beer and carefully thought about the question. He could tell Theo was serious about this. "Ya might want to try the new doc here in town; Iris Proudfoot. She's originally from the South Farthing but everyone in the area knows and respects her already. The Mayor likes her. Now, she ran around with Frodo Baggins up until recently, but my sources tell me she's broke up with him. She's available." Shandy grabbed a piece of bread. "But she's a real smart book-learned gal, that one is, Theo. She might not even give you the time 'o' day."  
  
That was all Theo needed. The doctor! That was it! The solution to his desire to integrate himself into Hobbiton high society while at the same time gaining female companionship. Theo thanked Shandy and headed back to his forge. He spent the next few hours getting his courage up. This was the day he was going to ask the new doctor out for dinner. He thought it over very carefully and saw another golden opportunity presented to himself.  
  
Why, the lass was right there, living no more than five buildings away from him. She was smart. She was pretty enough, though not an outstanding beauty like Pearl Took. Iris Proudfoot was not forward in that annoyingly teasing manner which so many of the Hobbiton lasses seemed to have cultivated. She was older than he, but still of the age where having several children was not out of the question. She came from a farm down in the South Farthing and knew the ways of field and barn. True, she could be bossy some times, but that was to be expected when you're a physician. And true, she had recently been dating Frodo Baggins, who didn't have the best reputation in the Shire due to him going off on a long adventure. But she was evidently over him now, and was available to the right lad who had the nerve to ask her out. Why not Theo Tuggle? Why not, indeed!  
  
Despite the cool weather, Theo was standing outside the opened doors to the forge, cooling off after an intense few hours at the anvil. In deference to the forge's heat and his physical exertions, he had removed his shirt and was clothed in breeches and the ever-present protective leather apron. Sweat trickled down his naked back and gleamed on his muscular arms. Theo was oblivious to the appreciative stares from most of the unmarried lasses (and quite a few of the married ones) gathered in the market square.  
  
He could see Iris coming out of her physician's offices, walking over and posting something on the community bulletin board. Theo couldn't read, and as Iris was not having the notice announced by the town crier, he thought no more of it. It wasn't important. She was. Theo set aside his hammer, wiped his grimy hands on his leather apron, cleaned his face with his handkerchief, and walked over to the bulletin board.  
  
"Good day, Doctor Proudfoot," he said.  
  
Iris turned and flashed a smile at the blacksmith. "Good day, Mister Tuggle." She finished posting her notice. "Nice to see you. Business must be very good, as I can constantly hear you pounding away at the anvil."  
  
"Thank you, Doc. Yes, business is hoppin'," Theo replied. "If ya don't mind me askin', what's that ya just posted?"  
  
"Oh, it's a notice that there is an outbreak of measles over at the Bugleton's farm out past Overhill," Iris said.  
  
"Pic Bugleton's place?" Theo inquired. "Well, that's not surprisin' with all them kids. Hope they're doin' well otherwise. I know Pic from way back when him and me were wee lads and our Da's worked ole Sloggy's farm."  
  
"They are doing well, the measles notwithstanding," Iris laughed and turned to leave. "Be seeing you around Mister Tuggle."  
  
"Um, Miss Proudfoot?" Theo cleared his throat. "Call me Theo. After all, we are near neighbors. I hope you don't think me being too forward, but I was wonderin' if you might want to be takin' dinner with me tonight? Chas tells me the Green Dragon is havin' a nice roast pig with taters, onion and apple stuffing, and I sure like roast pig. Would you care to join me?"  
  
Much to Theo's surprise, Iris accepted his invitation. "I'll come by for ya about sundown then," the blacksmith waved as he walked back to his shop. "Will wonders never cease?" he thought to himself. "If ya don't try for it, you'll never get it, as me Da used to say. Sure has been my lucky year!" Theo whistled a jaunty tune as he shoveled more coals into the furnace and started working the bellows.  
  
The conversation was overheard by May Bracegirdle, the town gossip, who had her jams and jellies booth set up in the market square at a strategic location for hearing everything about anybody. May went into action. Soon the entire square knew that the doctor was available for dating. Word would be in Bywater and points further by the next morning. May's gossip circle was even more efficient than the Shire Messenger service.  
  
Dinner was outstanding even by hobbit standards. Theo closed his shop early to take an extra-long and extra-soapy bath to remove the smell of the forge. He wanted the night to be perfect, as he knew how important a good first impression could be. The handsome blacksmith wore one of his new matching suits – not his best, as he didn't want to appear too eager – but nice enough. He and Iris enjoyed their dinner and even got into an interesting conversation over desert. He was surprised to learn that the doctor knew quite a few things about animal husbandry and that her family owned a cotton and flax farm down near the Sarn Ford. They ran a few head of special sheep for the extra-long, extra-soft wool, and her brother and sister-in-law had a successful business weaving cloth out of the goods produced by the family farm.  
  
Theo escorted Iris back to the front door of the Physician's Office. The crescent moon winked and blinked with each thin, high cloud passing by. The evening air was soft with autumn smells of hay and apples, but the breeze promised cooler rain with the dawn. Theo was very polite and sensitive to his date; every bit the gentle, strong country hobbit he was brought up to be. The moment of leaving was a bit awkward, with Iris hesitant. They briefly kissed on the doorstep before Iris went inside and closed the door. Theo grinned and started whistling as he strode back to his little house behind the forge.  
  
Iris leaned her back against the front door and sighed. Theo was a nice, well-mannered hobbit, especially for a country lad. He was handsome and strong and young. He was successful. He was intelligent and resourceful and even a bit ambitious. He could hold his own in a conversation and was making friends in Hobbiton quickly. He had a pleasant smile and a charming, if somewhat shy, manner. He smelled faintly of smoke and peat from the bellows, which wasn't an unpleasant smell. But it was not the same.  
  
He was not Frodo. She couldn't help the comparison. It was unfair to Theo, but it was there. He was not Frodo. There was no spark; no fire.  
  
Iris walked down the hallway and into her bedroom, lighting the little candle on the dressing table and one of the wall sconces. She shuffled into the kitchen and poured herself a small glass of red wine she had been saving for ... for something she couldn't recall. Wandering back into her bedroom, she went over to her cedar chest and pulled out the blue paisley print dress Frodo had commissioned to be made for her. It shimmered faintly in the candlelight. Her fingers unconsciously found the hidden embroidered nightingale, and with its discovery, Iris began to softly cry. 


	4. Plans

Chapter 4: Plans  
Chapter Rating: PG-13 (mild language, sexual innuendo)  
  
October 26th  
  
"May Bracegirdle told her cousin who's friends with my sister's boyfriend. So ya know it's true. Practically came from the pony's mouth."  
  
Dibble Culver had to yell over the noise of the grist wheel. He was talking with Ted Sandyman the next day as they worked together at the Bywater mill. News of the Doctor's date with the blacksmith had traveled quickly.  
  
Ted was stacking sacks of milled barley against the dusty wall as Dibble loaded wheat kernels into the grindstone's hopper. "So, the doc's dating again, eh? Great! Glad she's come to her senses and has dropped that bloody Baggins. But datin' the blacksmith? Now what in the world would a lass of quality see in a no-name newcomer?"  
  
"Well, he's got a nice business and is right good-lookin'..." Dibble sneezed as some wheat dust got up his nose. "And he's makin' a ton of copper. And he knows a thing or two about most anything mechanical or ..."  
  
"Oh, shut yer blitherin' trap," Ted grumbled in annoyance. "I was jest thinkin' aloud. Miss Proudfoot ain't the prettiest lass in the Shire, but she's not so bad off neither. And she's got a successful practice set up in Hobbiton. Nice building and a garden back behind. Connections to the Boffins and the Tooks, if I understand her family's dealings correctly. She and Baggins were quite a number there. Wonder what changed that?"  
  
"Dunno, Teddy," Dibble said. "I don't think May knows either, or we wouldda heard it."  
  
"Has anyone seen Baggins in Hobbiton lately?" Ted yelled over the noise.  
  
"Nope," Dibble replied as he climbed down the steps leading up to the loading hopper. "Seems he's hole up in Bag End. Ain't been to town in at least two weeks though the Gamgees have been in ta market several times. Maybe Doc told 'im off or sommat what got 'im mad."  
  
"Here. Let's load these sacks onta the pony cart," Ted smiled as he dusted his hands on his breeches. "I think I see a chance to rub Frodo's nose in the dirt. Bet it would bust his balls ifin I was to take his girl from him. That would put him in his place for sure."  
  
"Aw, come on, Teddy," Dibble protested, "You can't be serious 'bout datin' the doc, can ya? I mean, you did call her a South Farthing witch and all in public." He walked through the open loading dock and jumped into the back of the pony cart.  
  
"Yeah, well, I paid for that mistake and I'm sure she's forgot by now," Ted threw a full sack of oats at Dibble, who deftly caught it and stacked it neatly against the front rail. "Besides, I've been softenin' her up by sendin' her little gifts ever since she fixed up me hand. She should be in my debt by now. I even sent her that fickin' songbird which cost me a pretty copper. She owes me a date or two at least."  
  
Ted continued to throw sacks of grain to Dibble. "Bet she'd be a fun bit of fluff in the sack, ifin ya catch me drift. She's a doctor and all. Bet she knows some tricks and things to make a lad extra hard and last extra long. Bet that's why ole Baggins latched onta her in the first place. She's probably got some secret herbs and such."  
  
"Teddy, come on," Dibble again protested. "She's educated. She kin read and write. What is she gonna see in the likes of you?"  
  
"Dibble, me lad, I'll let ya in on a little secret," Ted smirked. "She's a single lass from out of town who's past forty without jumpin' the broom. If they get too lonely they lower their standards. She's datin' a blacksmith, fer crying aloud. She kin do a sight better with me. After all, I own the mill. And besides, if I bed her, I kin really have somethin' to lord over that Baggins bastard."  
  
Ted stopped and placed his hands on his hips. "Dibble, I'm gonna take Frodo's lass away from him. I'm gonna screw her up good 'n' hard and maybe even take her ta wife. I'm gonna knock her up and raise a batch of brats with her, and there ain't gonna be nothin' that bloody Baggins kin do about it."  
  
"Teddy, you need to have yer head examined," Dibble snorted.  
  
"You watch me," Ted bragged as he grabbed another sack and threw it out the dock. ------------------------  
  
Ted decided to drop into the doctor's office that afternoon. The check up on his injured hand wasn't scheduled until the following Monday, but he thought it was a good excuse to jumpstart his plan. The hand was healing nicely, although the three fingers would never flex the same as before, or have any strength in them. In particular, his ring finger was of no use; the bone being splintered beyond salvaging in the grist mill accident. Iris wanted to amputate it but Ted wouldn't allow it. He didn't really mind having a useless finger. He still had all his fingers, and access to the doctor, and that was all that really mattered.  
  
"What ever happened to that pretty little singin' bird I sent ya?" Ted asked as he was putting on his coat.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry, but it's no longer here," Iris said as she put away her instruments. "I made the mistake of taking it out of its cage, and, well, it flew out the back door and that was the last I ever heard of it." Iris didn't like to lie, but this one came quite easily to her. She didn't want to dwell on the real reason the bird was no longer around.  
  
"That's too bad," Ted said. "Cost me a pretty copper, that bird did. Ah, well, tis gone now. No use crying over a silly songbird what's left ya, is there? If ya catch my drift." Ted winked.  
  
Iris looked up at that remark, but didn't reply. How much did Ted Sandyman know about her fight with Frodo?  
  
Ted continued on. "Doc, I want yer to know I was wrong about you. You're a right good doctor, and there's no mistake about that. And a right pretty one too, if you don't mind my being so bold. And seeings how you're a free hobbitess, I was wonderin' if you would like ta join me and me pals at the Bywater Little Fishies Inn this coming Friday? Shandy Merryweather is playin' fiddle there on Fridays and it's a good time. I'll even bring the mill pony cart by ta pick you up. What ya say?"  
  
That was a surprise. Suddenly Iris realized she was popular with the area bachelors. "Thank you Mister Sandyman. That is awfully kind of you to ask. But I have a prior commitment for this Friday. I do hope you and your pals enjoy the music." She had lied again. It was becoming a habit when she dealt with Ted Sandyman.  
  
"Well, all right," Ted said as he turned to leave. "But I'm not going to give up that easily. I'll be back, Miss Proudfoot." Ted winked as he closed the door. He chuckled as he walked back to Bywater. It might take awhile, but he was convinced he would get the doctor into bed with him before the year was out.  
  
Iris noticed the mail was in. There was a cream-colored envelop with a bright blue seal sitting atop the pile. It was an invitation to Fredigar Bolger's wedding party on November 10th. Freddy was marrying Peony Fairweather, and most of Hobbiton, Bywater and Bag End were invited. It was to be held at the Green Dragon Inn, just a few doors down from her office. Iris decided to ask Theo Tuggle to escort her to the party, effectively warding off potential invites from both Ted and Frodo. Without waiting, Iris headed out the door and down to the blacksmith's shop.  
  
Theo was terribly pleased to have the Hobbiton physician invite him to be her escort to the social event of the season. His luck was still golden! He would be having lunch with Mayor before the year was out if he stuck with Iris. 


	5. Party Invitations

Chapter 5: Party Invitations  
Chapter Rating: PG  
  
October 26th  
  
"Here's one for you and Master Gamgee, and one for Master Baggins as well." The Shire Messenger handed Rose two identical envelops, tipped his tri- cornered hat with the gay yellow finch's feather stuck in its brim, and hurried on to the next smial down the road. He was extraordinarily busy today with all the invitations sent out from Hobbiton. His mail bag was overloaded with identical envelops as well as his usual bundle of mail and small parcels. Mister Hamfast Gamgee of New Bag Shot Row #3 was next on his route.  
  
Rose stood on the stoop just outside the front door, broke the cobalt blue wax seal and opened the cream-colored envelop. "Sam!" she called as she walked back into the house. "We're invited to Freddy's wedding party."  
  
Sam came out of the living room to join his wife in the hallway. "Well, he's finally found a lass to cook for him and clean up after him," Sam laughed as he read the invitation. "Freddy's always been a bit of a pig. I remember spending the night at his house in Hobbiton once after a rather late night at the Green Dragon. Me and Hamson spent at least 20 minutes moving things to clear up a space on the floor for a blanket. Hope Peony knows what she's gotten herself in for. Looks like the Green Dragon Inn is the place to be on November 10th."  
  
"What do you think we should bring?" Rose inquired. "I mean, as a wedding gift and all?"  
  
"A new broom and rubbish bin," a dark voice called from inside the study.  
  
"Oh, Mister Frodo," Rose snickered, "you're a terrible tease."  
  
"Freddy has never owned either, judging from the state of his rooms," Frodo said as he peeked out from his study.  
  
"Oh my, here's your invitation too," Rose handed him an identical envelop. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hold onto it."  
  
Frodo accepted the envelop from Rose's hand and studied it. It was addressed to Mister Frodo Baggins and Guest. Fredigar Bolger was not subtle about anything. Frodo wondered it he could get away with attending without a guest.  
  
"Are you going to go to the party, Frodo?" Sam asked. Frodo had refused each and every social engagement proffered him during the past two weeks. This annoyed Sam to no end and worried Rose. Getting Frodo out of Bag End was proving more difficult than Sam could have ever imagined. 'Like convincing a cat that he likes sitting in the rain,' Sam thought.  
  
"I shall consider it," Frodo replied noncommittally, opening and reading his own invitation as he leaned against the doorway post.  
  
"Well that's as good as a 'no'," Sam muttered, crossing his arms and frowning at Frodo. "And Freddy's your good friend too. Shame on you if you don't go to his wedding party. Merry and Pippin are sure to be there. All our friends will be there. It will be a grand time. And Miss Iris will be there too, you know."  
  
"I said I shall consider it, Sam," Frodo gently said as he slipped the invitation back inside its envelop. "I did not say 'No.' And yes, I realize the doctor will be in attendance. Sam, you are as subtle as a forest fire." He placed the invitation in his coat pocket and started down the interior hallway. "I wonder if Freddy and Peony would like a bottle of the new Wynyard's vintage? I think we still have a few bottles of their claret left from when we first moved back into Bag End. I am sure they are in excellent health. I really should restock the wine cellar ..." Frodo's voice faded away as he wandered off into the deeper portions of the smial.  
  
"Samwise Gamgee," Rose hissed, "that was un-called-for." She thwacked him with the empty envelop. "You're a terrible match-maker, did anyone ever tell you?"  
  
"You know as well as I do that he won't go unless we drag him along," Sam continued frowning. "If he doesn't go to Freddy's wedding party I'll haul his sorry ass down to the doc's place and force the two of 'em to have it out in the open. I swear he's really getting on my nerves now."  
  
"And Samwise Gamgee, you're getting on mine." Rose was now frowning. "Why don't you go cool off over at yer Gaffer's? I don't want you two hot heads snapping at each other all day, and seein' as Frodo's not likely to leave, why don't you? I'm sure your old Dad's been invited to the party too. It'll give ya something to talk about besides the weather or plants or his aches. You know he's not feeling very good this week, and a visit from you would cheer him up."  
  
"All right, all right," Sam said as he grabbed his coat. "I'll be over at me Gaffer's for awhile."  
  
"Sam," Rose stopped him before he could open the front door, "wait. Let me send over some lunch with you. Come on, let's go into the kitchen." Rose and Sam disappeared into the kitchen before Frodo reappeared from the cellar. Sam exited the back door and was gone for the rest of the day.  
  
Frodo returned to his study, finding Rose and Sam had vacated the hallway, leaving it empty and silent. He pulled the envelop out of his pocket, once again staring at the address: "...and Guest ..."  
  
"Great," Frodo sourly thought, "and who am I supposed to invite as my escort? Maybe Gandalf will magically appear and save me from this social fiasco waiting to happen." He carefully placed the envelop between two inkwells. The cobalt blue wax seal gleamed softly against the cream- colored paper. "That color certainly catches the eye," he thought. "Hmmm..."  
  
Frodo sat down at his desk and composed a short message to be sent into Hobbiton. He was able to wave down the Messenger and get his outgoing mail picked up. The mailman was on his way back to Hobbiton after his New Bag Shot Row deliveries.  
  
'I do hope she can get it finished and out here before the 10th,' Frodo thought, watching the Messenger disappear around a bend in the road. 'If Iris sees it, her curiosity will get the best of her judgment and she will be forced to talk with me.' Frodo returned to his work, humming a little song written by Bilbo and taking a sip from a small glass of red wine which had been sitting untouched since dinner the pervious night. It was still good. ----------------  
  
Ted Sandyman also received an invitation to Fredigar Bolger and Peony Fairweather's wedding party. It was only proper, seeing as how Ted was Peony's first cousin. As soon as one of the mill workers finished reading his invitation to him, Ted headed off to Hobbiton. He planned to invite Iris Proudfoot to attend the party as his guest. "That'll annoy the Baggins to no end," he chuckled to himself.  
  
"Miss Proudfoot is busy with a patient, Mister Sandyman," Opal Boffin said as Ted stood in the doctor's waiting room. "She is almost through though, if you care to wait?"  
  
In a few minutes, an elderly gentlehobbit exited, and Iris entered the waiting room. Ted's plans were soon dashed, much to his dismay.  
  
"Thank you so very much, Mister Sandyman," Iris politely smiled, "but I already have a date to the party. Mister Tuggle is escorting me. It was very lovely of you to think of me, and I appreciate the invitation."  
  
"Oh..." Ted hadn't planned on Iris being unavailable. "Um, well, I guess I'll see ya there then, I guess." He knew he sounded stupid, but Ted couldn't think of anything else to say. And that Boffin lass was there to witness his humiliation! He thought he saw Opal snickering behind her hand. Ted's temper began to rise.  
  
"Yes," Iris replied. "See you at the party." She quietly shut the door as Ted left the building.  
  
Ted seethed as he trudged back to Bywater, hands in his pockets and a scowl on his face. He was furious at having been outwitted by the blacksmith (so he thought). 'I'll get even with that stinkin' smithy. But how? Hmmm ... If I can't escort the Doc to the party, I can make for certain I'm the one to take her home. But how? I'll invite Tuggle's old girlfriend to be my date. What's her name? Um... Corabell Higgenbothom. That's it. Cute little farm lass from just outside Overhill. Not a bad looker either, though a bit thick in the head, which ain't such a bad thing in a girl. I'll dump her onto Theo while we're at the party, sos I can pick up the Doc.'  
  
Ted was in a much better mood by the time he arrived at the pub in Bywater. Dibble was already there, and with a drink in hand for his only friend. 


	6. The Wedding Party

Chapter 6: The Wedding Party  
Chapter Rating: PG  
  
November 10th  
  
It was the wedding party of the season. Fredigar Bolger had spared no expense in celebrating his marriage to the lovely Miss Peony Fairweather. The Green Dragon Inn was overflowing with guests from all over the Shire. Although the night was frosty, the doors to the Inn were flung open in an attempt to provide much-needed cool air for the boisterous crowd and scores of brightly lighted candles inside.  
  
Tandy and Opal Boffin secured a large table near the band to serve as a meeting place for friends and relatives. Merry and Pippin were using it as their base for chatting up single lasses who freely danced with any and everyone who asked. Hamson Gamgee, Nibs Cotton, Farmer and Mrs. Cotton, the Gaffer, and the extended Gamgee/Cotton clan secured two tables near the front door. Sam and Rose arrived early, coming down from Bag End and escorting the elderly Gaffer with his date. Children dressed in their finest clothes darted through the crowd, snatching handfuls of salted and honeyed nuts and giggling at private jokes and games.  
  
Freddy and Peony were standing over by the dance floor, shaking hands with their guests as they arrived. Freddy was beginning to fill out again after his enforced diet during the previous year. He looked every bit the part of the prosperous and healthy hobbit of old; resplendent in his new matching green breeches and coat with contrasting bright orange vest. A crown of gold and green leaves circled his head, making him appear as Lord of the Harvest. He and his bride had been greeting their guests for a full thirty minutes before Sam and Rose could reach them in line.  
  
"Samwise! And the beautiful and wonderfully with-child Rose Gamgee!" Freddy beamed at his friends, shaking their hands and kissing Rose on the cheek. Peony kissed them both and gave Rose an extra hug. "So wonderful to see you here! Rose, you grow more beautiful each day. Motherhood agrees with you. And Sam! A father!" Sam's grin lighted up the room. "Great to see the Bag End troops here. But where's Frodo?"  
  
"Oh, um, Mister Frodo didn't walk down with me and Rose and me Gaffer," Sam stammered with embarrassment for his friend. "I'm sure he'll be coming later, Freddy. Or should I start calling you 'Fatty' again? Frodo's probably finishing up some work or getting dressed or something. Congratulations, you luck hobbit. And best wishes, Peony. We all love Freddy, but we're all glad it's you and not us what married him."  
  
Freddy and Peony laughed at Sam's gentle joke. He and Rose moved on so that the rest of the guests could congratulate the new couple.  
  
Ted Sandyman arrived, dressed in his best dark tweed suit, with Corabell Higgenbothom on his arm. The Fairweather side of the family had claimed the booths and tables to the left of the dance floor near the bar, so Ted steered Corabell in that direction. He secured a small table and pulled up four chairs, as he had seen Iris and Theo enter.  
  
Ted smiled and waved the two over, offering them the last two unoccupied chairs in the Inn. Theo was stunned to see his former girlfriend sitting there with the Bywater miller. Corabell had certainly matured in the year Theo was away. There she sat in her pale yellow and gold gingham dress, at least three pure white petticoats lifting the skirt away from her shapely legs. Her dark golden hair spilled out in a cascade of curls under a circlet of green and white ribbons. She was a vision of modesty and country freshness in the midst of the more somber-colored Hobbiton female fashions.  
  
Corabell blinked in surprise at seeing Theo escorting a brown-haired hobbitess at least ten years older than she. Theo was so handsome and successful, dressed in his best grey suit and formal white shirt; a cheerful red bachelor's button flower pinned to his lapel. And his date was so ... well ... was so plain. Within an instant both hobbitesses had scrutinized each other and had decided that neither posed a threat. They were both supremely self-confident individuals in their own unique ways.  
  
"Um... Doctor Tulip Proudfoot of Hobbiton, may I introduce you to Miss Corabell Higgenbothom of Overhill?" Ted graciously gestured from one hobbitess to the other. "I'm sure Corabell knows Theo."  
  
"Corabell?" Theo asked, still in a state of shock at seeing her, "What are you doing here?"  
  
Theo turned the chair around and straddled it, sitting himself down next to the young hobbitess, completely forgetting his manners and Iris. Theo and Corabell were soon in deep conversation about her family's farm and the happenings in Overhill. Iris sat down in the only chair left - the one next to Ted Sandyman. She felt like last Yule's toy abandoned by a six- year-old. Ted had anticipated this and slid next to her.  
  
"Hey, Doc," he made himself heard over the general noise and music, "would ya care for an ale or somethin'?" Ted smiled and tried his hardest to act like a gentlehobbit.  
  
"Thank you, yes," Iris smiled back weakly. "An ale will be fine."  
  
"How's about you, Corabell?" Ted turned to his so-called date.  
  
"Yes, please. A beer for me," Corabell said, briefly tearing her gaze from Theo.  
  
"Oh! Sorry!" Theo stood up, flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Doc. I'll help ya with them drinks, Mister Sandyman." Ted and Theo went off to get drinks for the table, leaving the girls to chat amongst themselves.  
  
Iris smiled at the lovely young country lass. "I understand you and Mister Tuggle have known each other for quite some time."  
  
"Yes 'mam," Corabell nodded and looked down at the table. "Me and Theo grew up together on neighboring farms. We've known each other all our lives. Me and Theo, that is. I mean, well, until he moved here, that is." Corabell looked towards the bar, hoping to glimpse Theo.  
  
It was painfully obvious to Iris that Corabell was deeply in love with Theo, and that Theo was quickly loosing interest in being the doctor's escort.  
  
"Miss Higgenbothom?" Iris reached over and gently patted Corabell's hand, "I want you to know that I was the one who asked Mister Tuggle to be my escort. He was kind enough to agree. We are neighbors. If you and Theo wish to chat, well ... I would not be at all displeased. I live a few doors away and can walk myself home, if you would care to stay longer here at the party than I. I am sure Mister Tuggle would love to chat with you and catch up on all the happenings in Overhill. As for your date, I can take care of Mister Sandyman. He and I know each other quite well, and I am sure he would not mind escorting me home instead of Mister Tuggle."  
  
"Oh! Would you?" Corabell almost jumped out of her chair in anticipation. "Oh, Doctor Proudfoot, that is so kind of you! I haven't seen me Theo ... uh, I mean, Mister Tuggle, in nearly a year now. And I do miss him so. Oh, that would be SO nice of you." The younger hobbitess threw off her shawl and pulled out a fan from her bodice. The air inside the Inn was becoming quite warm with the massed bodies. And it showed off her ample bosom to great effect. Corabell knew what she was doing.  
  
The lads returned with ales and beers in hand. Corabell abandoned all pretenses of being Ted's date and practically fell over herself moving closer to the dashing blacksmith. Theo had an equally hard time paying attention to Iris, who was only making polite conversation now, leaving Corabell to be free with her former beau. Ted smiled and hummed along with the band as he sipped his beer. His plan was working perfectly.  
  
Unbeknownst to anyone at the little table, Frodo had arrived. He slipped into the Green Dragon Inn through one of its side doors, preferring to keep his arrival as quiet and inconspicuous as possible. He was wearing a deep blue vest under his best maroon suit. He took his wedding present of wine over to the little side table, then ambled over to the bride and groom.  
  
"Congratulations, Freddy," Frodo smiled, slipping a small round heavy gift into the bridegroom's waistcoat pocket. "That is from my Uncle Bilbo. He wanted me to keep it safe until you finally got married. It's his wedding present to you."  
  
"Thanks! What is it, Frodo?" Freddy asked, placing his hand over the heavy object, but not wanting to bring it out for public scrutiny. There was no telling what strange and wonderful thing the elder Baggins was likely to bestow on the friend of his nephew and adopted heir.  
  
"It is some of the dragon's gold from his adventure with the dwarves," Frodo whispered in Freddy's ear. "Bilbo wanted me to give it to you when you needed it, and I cannot think of a more appropriate occasion, Freddy, my friend."  
  
Fredigar beamed with pleasure. Some of Bilbo Baggins's famed dragon's gold! What a story this would make! He was so taken aback at Frodo's generosity that he completely forgot his manners. The bride nudged her new husband to gain his attention.  
  
"Congratulations, Peony," Frodo smiled, taking her proffered hand and lightly kissing her on one blushing cheek. Evidently, he was the last of the guests to arrive. "I hope your husband does not mind, but may I have this dance with the lovely bride?"  
  
The little band had started a slow, stately waltz and couples advanced onto the dance floor. Merry was dancing close with Heili Foss, the Hobbiton Tailor's assistant. Unfortunately, Pippin had gotten stuck with Peony's mother, but he was game about the situation. He grinned as the mother of the bride squealed with delight when Pippin surprised her with a dip.  
  
Frodo led Peony out to the dance floor and with a flourish, twirled her into the massed bodies of revelers. He was a good dancer and knew how to highlight his partner's skills without loosing the beat or bumping into anyone else. He no longer had the physical stamina to engage in the faster jigs and line dances, but he enjoyed taking a turn during the slower numbers.  
  
It was Peony's night to shine, and she looked lovely in her gossamer citron and apple-green dress. A burnt-orange ribbon bound up her brown tresses and a matching ribbon laced up the pearl-colored bodice. Gay gold and red leaves, along with miniature chrysanthemums and asters of every hue formed a bridal crown on her head. The little, plump hobbitess positively glowed in the candlelight; an Autumn Sprite reveling in her joy.  
  
"Freddy is very lucky to have found you, Mistress Bolger," Frodo smiled as they danced.  
  
"Oh, my," Peony laughed. "I don't think I'll ever get used to having such a short last name. But thank you, Mister Baggins. Thank you very much."  
  
"Please call me Frodo," he said as they swayed in time to the dumbac and fiddle. "Are you planning to honeymoon right away?"  
  
"Not just yet," Peony blushed. "Me and Freddy are delaying our honeymoon until next summer, when we can go to my cousin's farm." She leaned closer and whispered in his ear. "It has a small, private waterfall in back of the guest house."  
  
"It sounds almost as lovely as you," Frodo bowed as the music ended. Peony curtsied as Freddy walked over and offered his arm to his bride. "Best wishes to both of you."  
  
As Frodo walked off the dance floor, he caught sight of Iris. She was sitting at a table with Theo, Ted Sandyman and a young lass from out-of- town, as Frodo did not recognize her. Theo and the stranger evidently knew each other quite well, as they were talking intently. Sandyman was trying to engage the physician in conversation.  
  
At that exact moment Iris noticed Frodo. Their eyes locked across the dance floor for a fleeting second. Neither moved, then their visual bond was broken. Iris turned and replied to something Sandyman had asked. She glanced once more at Frodo before sighing, giving her head an almost imperceptible shake, and looking away. Frodo moved off into the shadows and leaned against the back brick wall; hands shoved in his pockets and a dark scowl crossing his handsome features.  
  
Ted had also noticed Frodo moving off the dance floor, and smirked at Frodo's evident displeasure. Ted knew full well what he was doing, and reveled in the discomfort he was causing his rival. Seeing that Theo and Corabell were absorbed in talk about mutual friends, Ted jumped at his chance to take another stab at Frodo.  
  
"Hey, Iris," Ted grinned, "would ya care to dance?" Before she could open her mouth, Ted had grabbed her hand and the two were swept onto the dance floor. The pipes and hurdy-gurdy cranked out a lively popular jig, sending all able-bodied dancers into swirls of laughter and hand-clapping. Someone sneezed as the dust from the stomping feet sent dust mites floating into the tram beams streaming out from the candles. The air inside was warm and close with sweating bodies.  
  
Frodo retrieved the special bottle of claret he had brought with him and headed to the bar. Chas Limekiln obligingly opened it, and at Frodo's insistence, poured a glass for himself and Frodo. Chas drank a silent toast to Frodo as the dark-haired hobbit returned to propping up the shadowed wall. His eyes involuntarily returned time and time again to watch Iris dance with Sandyman. He drank his wine and smoked his pipe, all the while thoroughly miserable.  
  
"Well I'll be a donkey's uncle!" Sam said. He and Rose were watching the dancing from their little booth near the front door. "Mister Frodo actually showed up."  
  
"Where? I don't see him." Rose looked all about the crowded room to no avail.  
  
"He's hiding back in the shadows along the rear wall. To the right of the band," Sam said. "I'm goin' over to talk with him. Maybe I can get him to join us. Be back in a second, love." Sam kissed Rose and patted his father on the shoulder, then headed off through the boisterous crowd.  
  
Sam worked his way through the merry-makers and over to the far shadows. He quietly leaned against the wall next to his best friend, crossing one foot over the other and putting his hands into his pockets. Frodo didn't say a word or otherwise acknowledge Sam's presence. He continued to smoke his pipe and stare at Iris as she danced. After a few moments, Frodo silently handed his glass of wine to Sam, who took a swig and then passed it back.  
  
"Well ... go on Mister Frodo," Sam said after a few more moments had passed. "Ask Miss Iris to dance. You want to and she wants to. Everyone can tell. What's the worse that can happen? She says 'no' and dances with Sandyman? She's already doin' that, and, if you don't mind my sayin' so, she don't look like she's enjoyin' it much. Go on, Mister Frodo. I'll hold your pipe and glass. Ask Miss Iris to dance."  
  
"Is it that obvious, Sam?" Frodo sighed. He hated being here. This was a bad idea. He should have stayed at Bag End. He was absolutely miserable.  
  
"Yes, it's that obvious," Sam bluntly replied as the jig finished with a loud resounding chord and thunderous cheers and laughter from the crowd. "Now go on. You did the same for me with Rosie a long time ago. I'm just returnin' the favor, if you will."  
  
Frodo handed Sam his glass and looked at his friend. The band began an introduction to a slower number and Pippin started singing the words in his lilting baritone. It was an incredibly sappy ancient love song everyone knew well, and others joined in with the chorus. Elderly couples started to dance, including the Gaffer, who had taken the Widow Rumble as his date.  
  
"Now's the time, Mister Frodo," Sam whispered. He looked Frodo straight in the eye. "Go dance with your lass."  
  
Frodo handed Sam his pipe, swallowed hard, and took off across the dance floor. As Ted and Iris were sitting back down, Frodo appeared at the table. Without saying a word, he extended his maimed right hand to her in a silent invitation. She eyed Frodo warily, and hesitated. That was all it took for Ted to spring into action.  
  
"Bugger off, Frodo," he snarled. "Can't ya see the doc don't want no part of you no more? She's right happy here with me so why don't you take off on one of your stupid adventures and get permanently lost." Ted thought that was particularly clever. Corabell wasn't terribly impressed, as she suddenly realized Ted had planned all along to dump her for Iris.  
  
Frodo only smiled. "I'm sure Miss Proudfoot can speak for herself." He turned again to Iris and asked in his most neutral voice, "Doctor, would you care to dance?" He could feel his heart thumping against his chest and his hands sweating. Surely everyone at the table could see it as well.  
  
If there was one thing Iris could not stand, it was being treated like an object, and Ted had crossed the line. Much to Ted's annoyance, Iris asserted herself and accepted Frodo's offer. As Ted seethed, Iris and Frodo moved onto the dance floor, cautious about not getting too close to each other; tentative as a new-born colt's first steps. Catching a brief wisp of her familiar scent of lavender almost made him miss a beat due to the sudden aching in his heart.  
  
Frodo moved in closer to breathe her fragrance; feel the firm delicate fingers in the palm of his hand; watch her bosoms lightly bounce in time to the music. He was entranced. He longed to taste her mouth; hear her laughter; feel her flesh against his once more. She was thoroughly intoxicating. "Iris, we need to talk in private," he whispered.  
  
She held him back at arm's length, eyes dark with sadness and something else. "Frodo, you've already broken my heart in two. I could not stand to have it shattered further. Please don't torture me." He could read the hesitance, the reluctance in her eyes and in her voice. Her silky, alto voice. Her wide green eyes.  
  
"I am trying to mend what I have broken, not break it further," he softly said as they swayed to the music. "Please, please forgive me and come outside with me. We need to talk. I truly need to talk with you." They continued to dance and he pulled her slightly closer. She resisted for a moment, then let him advance slightly. "I am so lonely without you," he confessed into her delicately pointed ear.  
  
"Frodo, don't do this to me," Iris whispered back without looking at him, not wanting to be trapped by his hypnotic blue eyes. "You've already told me you are leaving. Where you go I cannot go. It is not fair to offer food to someone who's starving and then snatch it away from them when they reach for it."  
  
The song continued. Pippin seemed to know the entire lay by heart, and the crowd was entranced with his singing. Frodo and Iris passed into a pool of bright light on the dance floor. She looked down and suddenly noticed it.  
  
He was wearing a midnight blue paisley print vest under his jacket.  
  
Frodo felt Iris stiffen slightly in his arms. "I thought you said you had canceled this vest. Or did you lie to me about that?"  
  
"I have never lied to you about anything, Iris," he said. "I did cancel the making of this vest. But after we separated, I wanted something, anything, to bring you closer to me. So I reinstated its construction."  
  
She realized he was blushing. She had clearly caught him doing something he normally would not do. Something totally impulsive. Just how far had he gone? "Does it also have a nightingale embroidered on it?"  
  
Now the tips of his ears were burning a bright red. "Yes," he admitted, then smiled faintly and winked, "but you will have to find it yourself."  
  
"Frodo Baggins, you are the most sentimental hobbit I've ever known, and I didn't think you were the type." Iris could not suppress a slight snort at catching him doing something so completely out-of-character. The weeks of tension between them was swept away with her laugh. She was still wary, but no longer distant to his touch.  
  
Frodo abruptly turned serious again as he once again pulled her close as they danced. "Please, Iris. I changed my mind about the vest. I have had time to reconsider a lot about my life here in the Shire. I need your guidance, your advice. No. I am sorry. That is not it at all. Iris, I need you. I miss you terribly. It is not right without you. I keep thinking about you, and I have had a chance to reconsider my options. I need to talk to you about what to do now. Won't you please talk to me? In private?" To his relief, she agreed to step outside with him just as the music finished.  
  
Ted Sandyman was watching from his seat at the table. As Frodo and Iris departed the dance floor and headed towards the doorway, Ted bolted from the table. He intercepted Frodo, stopping him dead in his tracks with a hard blow to Frodo's shoulders. Frodo involuntarily winced at the sudden pain in the old wound in his left shoulder brought on by the strong grip of the miller.  
  
"And where do you think yer goin', Baggins?" Ted jabbed his pointed index finger into Frodo's shoulder with each word. "The doc ain't yer date and I don't think she cottons on ta bein' seen with the likes of you."  
  
Frodo grabbed Ted's hand before it could cause further pain. Ted was stunned at Frodo's unexpected strength.  
  
"Mister Sandyman, please," Iris pleaded, "thank you for your solicitousness, but this is perfectly fine with me. Mister Baggins and I are stepping outside for a little talk. And besides, if I am not mistaken, Miss Higgenbothom is your date, not me."  
  
Sam had returned to his place by Rose at their table near the door, bringing Frodo's pipe and wine glass with him. He and Rose were not so discretely watching Frodo and Iris as they danced. Merry had joined them at the table. He was watching Ted intently, as he had never trusted the miller and knew of Ted's long-standing grudge against Frodo. They could not help but notice the escalating disagreement between Ted and Frodo over Iris as the couple attempted to leave the Inn.  
  
"Sam," Merry suddenly grabbed Sam by the arm, "Teddy has a knife." He had noticed the glint of something metallic partially concealed inside the miller's jacket.  
  
Several couples near the doorway had stopped to witness the scene. Chas Limekiln, the Green Dragon Innkeeper, also approached the doorway. He knew of Ted's volatile temper first-hand, and was moving to intercept before things got out-of-hand.  
  
Merry and Sam quickly padded over to position themselves slightly behind and on either side of Ted. Sam lightly pulled back Ted's jacket using Frodo's pipe stem.  
  
Merry quietly put a hand on Ted's shoulder and looked him in the eye. "Teddy? Don't you know it's not polite to bring a weapon to a wedding party?"  
  
Neither Frodo nor Ted had noticed Merry and Sam's maneuver until it was too late and the knife was clearly visible to everyone around the doorway. Ted's face flushed a bright red at being discovered. Frodo released Ted's hand as if he was suddenly made out of burning coals. Iris took a couple of steps back, leaving Ted alone in a small circle of offended wedding guests. The desperate miller was about to make up some story, when, to his amazement, Frodo stepped up to him and spoke.  
  
"I am sure Mister Sandyman simply forgot to put away his work knife after a hard day at the mill, Captain Brandybuck. Right, Ted?" Frodo slapped the miller on the back in a gesture of apparent friendship, but his eyes were twin points of cold blue steel. Frodo also took his pipe from Sam, letting Ted's jacket softly fold to cover the harsh glint of metal.  
  
Ted was just as confused at Frodo's sudden defense as Sam and Merry were, but quickly agreed to the story. Chas Limekiln graciously offered to hold Ted's knife until he was ready to leave. Chas took Ted back towards the bar as Frodo offered his arm to Iris, reclaimed his pipe from Sam, winked at him, then disappeared into the blackness of the night with the doctor at his side. 


	7. Safe Harbor

Chapter 7: Safe Harbor  
Chapter Rating: PG  
  
Once outside the Green Dragon Inn, Frodo tucked his pipe into an inside coat pocket, then offered his arm to Iris. She accepted and they strolled arm-in-arm down past the Hobbiton shops, going round to the medical gardens and private entrance in back of her building. Music and laughter from the wedding party wafted past on the crisp night air. They stopped and stood under the young dormant willow tree in the center of the garden, surrounded by the rustling leaves and dry twigs of dying herbs and bushes. The herb garden was undergoing its first transition from summer to winter. Its harvest was over and the plants lay in quiet repose awaiting the first freeze of late autumn.  
  
A heavy cloud cover obscured both moon and stars, rendering the night inky in shadows save for the occasional twinkle of candlelight peeking out from surrounding home and hearth. Iris could barely make out Frodo's features in the wane light of the lone lantern set on an iron stake on the side of the pathway. He appeared thinner than the last time she had seen him. Slightly darkened smudges under his eyes told the story of too many nights enduring recurring nightmares. She could read his symptoms even in the heavy darkness.  
  
Frodo took her warm hands in his cool ones. His voice was low and full of regret.  
  
"Iris, I am terribly sorry for upsetting you so with my talk of leaving Middle Earth," he whispered. "If there was a way I could reach into the past and erase my offensive words I would do so, but I cannot. I can only try to heal the damage I have caused. But I do not know how. Perhaps there are other options available to me which I have not considered. Perhaps there is a way to stay and be with you. But I need to talk to you about it."  
  
He reached up a hand to caress her face, but she pulled back, evading his fingers. It was too soon. She was too wary. "Frodo, don't dangle little threads of hope in front of me. That's not fair. What are you trying to say?"  
  
A happy couple wandered past on the back road behind the buildings, laughing and talking to each other about the party. It was Merry and Heili. Frodo waited until they had passed before answering.  
  
"May we go inside? I would hate to have this conversation overheard."  
  
They ascended the stone steps to the back door and crossed into Iris's private residence. Once inside she led him into the little room which served as both her living room and medical library. As Frodo stoked the fire back into life Iris went into the kitchen to retrieve a couple of glasses of red wine. Frodo stood next to an upholstered easy chair set beside the fire, absentmindedly rubbing his left arm. Iris handed him a wine goblet and sat on the couch facing him and the fireplace.  
  
"Iris, let me start by saying that I do not desire to leave Middle Earth," he began, taking a deep swallow of wine. "I would love to have things return to the way they were before the Quest. But they will never be the same, for I have been changed. I feel that I must leave Bag End." He began to pace before the fire, casting indecisive shadows across the rug.  
  
"Why?" was her only word.  
  
"It is not safe to have me there with Rose and Sam. Soon there will be children. How can I possibly stay there with my illness causing such unpredictable and violent outbursts? You saw what happened. I am a menace to them, no matter how careful I am or how cautious and protective Sam is about me. I simply cannot stay there. In fact, I may not be able to remain in the Shire at all."  
  
Frodo looked down and away in embarrassment. "I have changed too much."  
  
'It is as if he thinks he is somehow responsible for the atrocities inflicted upon himself,' she thought. 'He needs me as his physician right now.'  
  
Iris sipped her wine and settled back into the couch. "All right. You say you cannot stay at Bag End. I may not agree with you on that point but am willing to consider the possibility. But why do you think you have to leave the Shire altogether?"  
  
Frodo sat down and leaned forward in the chair, both hands cupping the bowl of his goblet. "I was led to believe that healing could only come from the Elves. Lord Elrond and Gandalf, and even Arwen told me the Elves across the sea might be able to heal me and bring me peace. I do greatly desire to find healing, but even that is not certain. And there is no returning from such a sea journey. Even if I was healed, I could not come back to the Shire, or to Middle Earth at all. I would die there eventually. And despite what Gandalf or Galadriel would say, I think I would be terribly lonely. There are no hobbits there. The Elves would honor me and treat me well, but I am not like Bilbo. I cannot live forever with the Elves. They are not my kind. I need someone of my own kind." He looked at her. "Iris, I need you."  
  
"Are you certain you need me or just another hobbit to talk to?" Iris asked. She mentally chided herself for the snappy reply, but she offered no apology. Taking a deep breath, she resumed. "What of Bilbo? Isn't he going across the sea with Gandalf and the Elves? Wouldn't you have him for company?"  
  
Frodo set the goblet onto the hearth, got out of the chair and knelt on the rug at her feet. "Understand; I love Bilbo. He took the place of my father and mother. More than that, he was my mentor, teacher and friend."  
  
He stretched his hand out and caressed her face. "But he is not my soul mate. Iris, it is you that I want. Not Sam. Not Rose. You. It is you that I love. I miss you terribly and I want to be with you. You are the reason I have changed my mind about leaving."  
  
She pulled back slightly, searching his eyes. She was afraid to trust him again. "Why not move out of Bag End and find a place here in Hobbiton? What could be more simple?"  
  
Frodo sat down cross-legged on the hearth rug and stared into his hands. "I shall try to explain my jumbled thoughts. I apologize if they make no sense to anyone save myself."  
  
He blinked a few times, then began very quietly. "When I was on the Quest, I thought that by sacrificing myself to destroy the Ring I would save the Shire. Through the months of traveling to Mordor I mentally prepared myself for the inevitable. I would leave the Fellowship and travel to Mount Doom alone. My life would be forfeit during the attempt. But if I timed things well I would die at the same moment the Ring was destroyed. The Shire would be saved. And that would be the end of things," Frodo confessed. "Instead, Sam comes to Mordor with me. After the Ring was destroyed I awoke to find myself alive but maimed; Gandalf alive, not dead; Aragorn a King instead of a Ranger; and the home I once knew turned into the headquarters for revenge against my own people. And it was all because of that Ring.  
  
"I returned to find the Shire of my youth tainted and ruined. Even though it may not appear that way to you, everywhere I look I see destruction and evil wrought upon it. The Shire has changed. I have changed. And I do not know if either of us can ever be fully healed."  
  
He turned his gaze to the fire. "It sometimes tears me apart to look upon the little hills and rivers and farms. To be reminded of what was, and what can never be reclaimed. Of the way I was and can never be again. What has been taken from me. The longer I dwell upon it, the more unbearable it becomes.  
  
"My only brightness is you," Frodo continued, turning his blue eyes full towards Iris. "You and Sam and Rose and my friends. But I fear even these cannot alleviate the pain I feel daily by simply living here. Perhaps it would be better for me to leave the Shire and live elsewhere. I do not know."  
  
He turned again and stared into the fireplace. Iris let the silence between them mature for a few minutes, then gently asked, "What do you seek?"  
  
He thought for another minute, listening to the crackle and sputter of the burning logs. "I seek safety. And quiet. I might never find it in the Shire again, for it has changed. Perhaps in too subtle a way to be perceived by those who have not gone through what Sam and I have endured. But it is almost unbearable for me to witness."  
  
Iris moved off the couch and joined him on the rug. "Then where will you go?" she gently asked. "Where in Middle Earth would you consider safe? Safe from what?"  
  
"Safe from what is trapped inside my mind," he replied, rubbing his aching left shoulder. "Rivendell might be one such place. It is so peaceful there." He stared past her and into his memories. "Peaceful and lovely – a place like nowhere else. A place of contemplation, understanding, laughter, art and song. Of waterfalls and mountain air and golden sunshine." His gaze returned to her face and he smiled a sad smile. "It was the one place Bilbo could find rest after he gave up the Ring. The Elves understood his need for respect and privacy, as well as companionship and love. I thought of moving there, but unfortunately, the Elves are leaving. The Elvish Ring of Power which maintained the Rivendell peace and tranquility has been rendered impotent by the destruction of the One Ring. Rivendell will soon become a place of ghosts and legend."  
  
"You sometimes speak of another Elvin realm when you are ill," she prompted. "Lothlorien. You always refer to it as a place of comfort and peace and quiet. What of the Lady of the Golden Wood? Would she not welcome you there?"  
  
"She is also leaving Middle Earth," Frodo said. "All the Elves are leaving Middle Earth. Perhaps not all in our lifetime, but they are leaving. Galadriel will travel with Lord Elrond next year. All the ringbearers are leaving; Galadriel, Elrond, Gandalf, Cirdan the shipwright, even Bilbo. I loved Lothlorien, but not as a place to live. I have to agree with what Gimli once said to me about Lothlorien. It is perilous. It is too strange and beautiful and alien. It is more like living in a dream where time stands still, and I do not wish to become ensnared in a perpetual dream. And with the Elves leaving, it is too vulnerable to orc attack from Moria. There must be some other place where I could find rest and peace and safety."  
  
"Why not go to some remote part of the Shire?" Iris asked. She moved back to sit on the couch.  
  
"And do what?" Frodo looked up. "I have no practical skills. I was never taught a trade, though my aunts and uncles tried several times to apprentice me to various craftspeople. I am a landowner who dabbles in writing books. I am more of an historian by avocation. But there is little call for an historian in the Shire. It is not a natural profession for a hobbit. The Elves and Big Folk have historians and official libraries, but not hobbits. Sometimes I feel as if I am not fully hobbit. It is as if I am more inclined towards Elvish arts such as literature and history. I am useless here."  
  
"Frodo Baggins!" Iris interrupted, "Don't ever say that to my face. You are NOT useless. You are very much needed and loved. Would you call Bilbo's life useless? No. He was a landowner and a writer too. You and he are so similar he might as well be your father."  
  
"No, Iris," Frodo shook his head slightly. "The comparison is not accurate. He returned from his adventure basically unchanged and able to enjoy a normal life at Bag End. I carry with me the scars of the Ring, which make me an alien wherever I am, but particularly strange to the peace of the Shire. People here notice my differences and have no desire to understand what actually happened outside their little country. They avoid me unless they are close, personal friends. I make people uncomfortable. Perhaps I should leave."  
  
Again Iris interrupted, leaning forward to catch his gaze. "So you make people uncomfortable, eh? So what? From what I understand, you and Bilbo have always made the stuffed shirts in Hobbiton uncomfortable. That is nothing new and has nothing to do with your adventure." She reached out her hand to stroke his cheek. "Frodo, you are using that as an excuse to avoid dealing with your problems here at home. Yes, the Shire has changed. But we must all live in the Shire that exists now, not some idealized memory of what it was in the past. You must try to live in the present. You are most comfortable at Bag End – in your family home. Use the time which is given to you."  
  
Frodo placed his head on Iris's knees, wrapping his arms around her legs and hugging himself to her body. His sigh sounded so forlorn. Iris stroked the dark curls spilling into her lap.  
  
"You don't have to face this alone," she gently whispered. "You have friends here who love you and would do anything for you. Surely you know this?"  
  
The voice which replied was full of remembered hurts and anticipated pain. "Iris, I cannot deny my nature. I cannot stay in Bag End now that my illness makes me dangerous."  
  
His hand reached up to find hers. 'His body is asking for help, even if he won't voice it,' she thought. 'The body tells the truth while the mind is preoccupied.'  
  
"I have been wounded far too grievously to remain at Bag End," he continued. "It is the perfect place for Sam's healing and for Rose and their children, but not for me. I need to leave. But where to go? And..." Frodo hesitated, then raised his head and looked into her eyes "... and Iris, I know this is rather forward, but ... but, would you come with me?"  
  
"I will not answer that question until you have a clear idea of where it is you are going," Iris calmly replied. She continued to stroke his hair. "I will not follow you blindly into the unknown. I am not like Sam that way. I love you, Frodo Baggins. But I need more from you than Sam did. I need to know what I am getting into. And I have a duty to my patients here. I cannot in good conscience leave them without a physician. How can you ask me to leave my home?"  
  
"There must be another solution," Frodo mused aloud. "Some place both of us would feel comfortable. I do not think we can come up with the answer tonight, but may I at least come by and talk with you some more about it? Could we resume our Friday walks in the countryside? I miss you terribly, Miss Proudfoot." He reached over and took her hand and kissed it.  
  
"Mister Baggins," she cautioned, "be careful of my heart. Once bitten, twice shy, as my mother always said."  
  
"Then let me try again." Frodo stood and gently pulled Iris to her feet. "I shall repeat again what I said to you beside the stream coming back from the Wyncots. I love you, Iris."  
  
She could not resist. He held her heart. He had claimed it that dark night of blood and nightingales. She had freely yielded it to him, and there was no going back. They kissed before the fireplace. Frodo stretched out on the rug before the fire. His dark eyes invited Iris to join him.  
  
"Frodo Baggins," she sighed as she lay at his side, "you must be part Elvish. You have cast a spell on me and have written your name on my soul." She absentmindedly fingered his clothes. Her sensitive fingers noticed it before her eyes. "I've found where you had the nightingale embroidered on your vest," she smiled. It was located above his heart. 


	8. Rivendell Messages

Chapter 8: Rivendell Messages  
Chapter Rating: PG  
  
November 28th was cold and wet. Thick monotonous grey clouds enveloped the countryside in a blanket of mists and drizzle. Autumn had changed to winter with the coming of the cold rains. The Shire Messenger tried his hardest to keep the damp out of his pack, draping the oilskin flap over the bundles and letters.  
  
"Doctor Proudfoot? You've a special letter here today," the Messenger grinned as he stepped inside the patients reception hall. He dropped his rain-soaked pack onto the welcome mat and pulled back the oilskin. "Prettiest package I've ever seen. All tied up fancy in ribbons and such. Nice handwriting too, but you can tell it's from somewhere outside the Shire. Real foreign-looking it is. It's down in the bottom, I think ..."  
  
Iris waited patiently as her little rag rug became soaked. Finally, an olive-green envelop tied with golden raffia emerged from the depths. An elaborate note shaped like a golden leaf and addressed in dark green ink was tied to the envelop. It was addressed in flowing script to the Esteemed Doctor Iris Proudfoot, Physician's Offices, Hobbiton, The Shire, Arnor.  
  
"Ain't never heard of no Arnor before. Have you?" the Messenger asked as he looked at the package in his hands.  
  
"I think it is an old term for the Shire and lands further East to the Misty Mountains," Iris replied. "I remember hearing old tales about a King of Arnor. But I didn't know anyone still used the term."  
  
The Messenger caressed the soft package one last time before relinquishing his grip. Iris thanked him, then retired to her private library. She left the package on her desk and went into the kitchen to fix herself a cup of steaming mint tea. She was terribly excited. She forced herself to take deep, calming breaths as she returned to the study and sat in the chair beside the fireplace. Her hands trembled as she unwrapped the raffia, broke the seal, and brought forth the letter. It was written in the same firm, flowing script as on the address. Iris had been awaiting this letter with both dread and anticipation.  
  
The Esteemed Doctor Iris Proudfoot Physician's Offices (East Road), Hobbiton, The Shire, Arnor  
  
My Most Esteemed Colleague,  
  
Your letter concerning the most Blessed Ringbearer, Elf-Friend and Beloved of Master Bilbo, Promise-Keeper and Selfless Soul, Member of the Fellowship of the Ring and our most honored guest, Master Frodo Baggins, reached my hands whilst in the midst of contemplation upon his future. A most fortunate timing for all involved, as the Valor so desire.  
  
My soul is troubled to learn of the Ringbearer's continued distresses caused by the hardships of the Quest. One of such noble and selfless spirit should not have to suffer long after his trials have ceased. But often such is the way of mortals and even of immortals.  
  
Those of us who are skilled in the healing arts are obliged to alleviate suffering in all its forms. We work to the best of our abilities. But as you have pointed out in your letter, each race has a unique understanding of these healing arts, according to the knowledge granted by the Valor. What little medical practice I have concerning hobbits has been solely due to taking care of the Two Blessed Ringbearers in their times of need. Master Bilbo Baggins has resided with us many years. However, his health has remained strong and I have not treated him for anything more serious than an occasional cold or the winter vapors.  
  
It is a quite different matter concerning Master Frodo Baggins. I am certain you know the horrific details surrounding his first visit to our realm. I will not dwell on the circumstances of such an evil wounding. Suffice it to say, all my skills as a healer were put to the test in order to save the Ringbearer's life. It also took all of the Ringbearer's own moral determination and innate strength of his race to refuse to succumb to the evil within that wound. I am still amazed that he not only survived the wounding, but regained his strength so quickly. As Gandalf the White once told me, hobbits really are amazing creatures. However, It does not surprise me to learn that the Ringbearer suffers relapses from that accursed wounding.  
  
Whist I was able to save Master Frodo's life, I was unable to restore him to complete health. It is beyond even my skill with such a wound as his. The blade was both cursed and poisoned, and the poison lives on in his blood. It can never be cleansed, at least not here in Middle Earth. There may be other Elvish healers of more skill than myself who might be able to undo the damage. However, they reside in the Blessed Realm, and the Ringbearer must travel there in order to attempt such healing. We have discussed this option with him, and know he is considering it. He would be honored and revered there, should he choose to leave Middle Earth and travel with us.  
  
I am not familiar with the Hobbit healing arts, but have on occasion practiced herb lore such as the Men of the North use. Our library contains books of herb lore and medical practices of both Elvish and Numenorian origins. As you suspect, I believe Elvish medicine is no where near the same as the herb lore and medical arts practiced by Men and Hobbits.  
  
Quite a lot of Elvish medicine involves direct stimulation of the spirit or mind and is probably inaccessible to mortals. However, since the patient is the Ringbearer, I am willing to once again treat him and have you, Doctor Proudfoot, attend in order to learn what you can from the treatments. Hopefully, you will be able to adapt some of the Elvish treatments so that you may use them after we have left these shores.  
  
A long time ago during the First Age, a Prince of Gondor also suffered a similar Morgul-blade wounding, yet survived. I must tell you that he managed to live another twelve years after the wounding, but was in constant pain. I am sure his life span was significantly shortened due to the poison carried on the blade. I am fearful that such might also be the case for the Ringbearer, should he refuse the journey with us across the Sundering Sea. But, again, this is not certain. These are the only two cases I know of people who have survived a Morgul-blade attack.  
  
I urge you to bring Master Frodo Baggins with you on your trip to Rivendell so that he is present just prior to the March 10th anniversary date. Then we may treat him during his relapse. Should he choose to remain in Middle Earth, there is a chance these episodes will become less severe as time progresses. But this is not certain.  
  
I must insert a warning about traveling to Rivendell in these times. The East Road is not patrolled as it once was, and an armed escort is required for any traveler. The Dunedain, or Rangers as you might know them, have mostly left Arnor to relocate south in Gondor, following the King. Orcs, Trolls and Wargs still survive in the Misty Mountains and occasionally trouble travelers on the road. But more recently, Easterling Men from the defeated Armies have infiltrated Mirkwood Forest and are drifting Westward, harassing travelers and even attacking armed escorts. I do not know how far West these uncivilized Men have traveled, but any journey between the Shire and Rivendell must be carefully planned and heavily armed for your own safety.  
  
I can provide your company with an armed escort from Bree to Rivendell and back. They will meet your group in Bree at the Prancing Pony Inn around February 10th, as requested in your letter. But your must arrange escort from the Shire to Bree. Be careful. There are still many who desire to see the Ringbearer dead.  
  
With the utmost regard, Elrond, Lord of Imlandis (Rivendell)  
  
Iris carefully refolded the letter and slipped it back inside its envelop. Her tea was cold but her mind was ablaze. He had agreed! She was going to see the Elves! And there was a possibility that she could learn some Elvish medical treatments which might help Frodo.  
  
Iris grabbed the letter and bounded up the hallway and into the doctor's offices.  
  
"Opal," she cried, "I'm off to Bag End. I expect to be back before nightfall. If there is an emergency, send one of the Waddle children for me. Can you look after things here until I return?" She quickly put on her winter cloak.  
  
"Sure, Miss Proudfoot," Opal reached under the examination table and brought out Iris's brown leather medical bag.  
  
"Oh, I won't be needing that, thank you," Iris smiled. "Not this time. See you later on." And she was out the door, heading up the familiar winding road past Bywater and on to Bag End.  
  
Rose Gamgee met her at the front door and took her rain-soaked cloak. The two hobbitesses briefly discussed Rose's pregnancy as they walked to the front study. Frodo was there, deeply absorbed in transcribing a long scroll written in Dwarvish runes.  
  
"Iris!" Frodo almost knocked over an inkwell in his haste to stand. "What brings you out on such a cold, wet day? Here, sit by the fire. Would you like some tea?"  
  
"Yes, please," she replied, sitting in the little chair next to the fireplace and warming her hands. Rose nodded briefly to Frodo, then pulled the door shut behind her on the way to the kitchen.  
  
"Is anything wrong?" Frodo sat down on the hearth, taking her chilled hands in his and warming them.  
  
"No. Nothing wrong," Iris smiled. She leaned down and kissed him full on the lips. "Something is quite right, in fact."  
  
"Ever since I met you I have been worried about the relapses you suffer where you relive some of your nightmares," she began. "I believe they can be managed with proper precautions. But I've been worried that I might not be doing enough to help you through them."  
  
"You have helped me survive two attacks now," Frodo gently said, frowning. "I know you are doing the best you can to deal with this. There is really nothing else you can do."  
  
"Oh, but Frodo, there is," Iris smiled. A soft knock at the door, followed by Rose's entrance bearing a tea service interrupted her momentarily. Frodo thanked Rose and took the service as Rose departed, again closing the door to give the two some privacy.  
  
"I've reached the limits of my own medical knowledge concerning this," Iris continued, "but there are always different approaches to the same problem. I got to thinking. You were initially saved through the considerable talents of the Elves – Lord Elrond of Rivendell, to be specific." She stirred some honey into her tea and took a deep sip. The warmth felt wonderful.  
  
"Yes ..." Frodo also stirred some honey into his tea. He looked intently at her. She was being circumspect. "Iris, did you write to him about me?"  
  
She couldn't help it. Iris broke into a huge smile. "Oh, Frodo. The most marvelous thing has happened. He's agreed to teach me Elvish medical techniques and Numenorian herb lore! I might learn something which will help you next time. Isn't that wonderful?" Her eyes sparkled with excitement.  
  
Frodo set down his tea cup, stood up, and began to pace the room. "Well, that is wonderful for you - yes. However, I am surprised he agreed to teach anyone at this time, much less a hobbit he has never met. I did not know mortals could learn healing techniques which the Elves use. I know Lord Elrond would not be traveling here, with time being so short prior to his leaving Middle Earth."  
  
Frodo stopped. "Damn, I should have seen this coming. Are you thinking of going to Rivendell?"  
  
"Yes, I am." Iris put down her own tea and stood up. "I'm frightened to death about traveling outside the Shire, but it's something I have to do. And I was hoping you would come with me. If we plan it right, we can arrive in Rivendell just prior to March 10th, the next time you should experience another relapse. That way we will both be in Rivendell when it happens, and I can watch and learn as Lord Elrond treats you. Lord Elrond has already agreed to this."  
  
Frodo crossed his arms in annoyance. "And how long have you been planning this little journey? Shouldn't you have at least asked me about this first?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Frodo," Iris said, crestfallen. "I panicked last October when you told me the Elves were leaving Middle Earth next autumn. I don't have much time to learn what I can from them before they leave forever. And I didn't want to bring it up to you if Lord Elrond refused to tutor me. I do hope you'll forgive my audacity at doing this behind your back." She turned and sat down on the hearthstone, staring into the fire. "If you don't want to go, I'll understand."  
  
Frodo walked over and sat beside her. "Iris, I do not believe you have sufficiently thought about what traveling to Rivendell in winter truly means. In order to reach there by March 10th we would have to start the journey in February. Imlandis is in the mountains. The weather will be treacherous, cold and unpredictable. And you have no experience traveling."  
  
"Well, I am going, whether you go or not," Iris turned to look at him. "It's my only chance to learn from Lord Elrond before he leaves Middle Earth forever. Time is quickly running out before the knowledge of the Elves is removed. And I may only get this one chance to witness the greatest physician in Middle Earth treat you. That is... if you will agree to go."  
  
She grabbed his hands and pleaded. "Please, oh please say you will go with me. If you do not come to Rivendell with me, I might still be able to learn something. But with you there, my knowledge will be practical rather than theoretical."  
  
Frodo could see she was adamant about going. He lightly shook his head and managed a weak grin. "Once again I cannot refuse you. Since your heart is set on this, I will go with you."  
  
Iris broke into another brilliant smile.  
  
"Iris, this is not a simple thing you are asking me to do," Frodo admonished her. "There is a good chance we will never reach Rivendell. We must leave no later than February 9th. We must plan this trip carefully in order to survive."  
  
"I know," she said. "Lord Elrond also said the same thing."  
  
Frodo continued on. "At least two ponies will be needed. I have my pony, Strider. I am sure we can borrow Bill from Sam. Yes, Bill would be the best pony for you since he has been on the journey before and knows the way. But we will need to attach ourselves to a supply wagon, mail carrier or other organized party traveling to Rivendell from Bree, if such a party can be found. But that is doubtful during that part of the winter. The snows will be heavy in the mountains surrounding Rivendell." Frodo was lost in thought. 'The real problem is going to be Sam.'  
  
"How long is the journey to Rivendell?" Iris asked. "Why do we have to leave so early? I mean, surely it is within a week's travel from the Shire, isn't it?"  
  
"Iris, the world is much larger than you realize," he gently said. "The Shire is a very small part of Middle Earth. In fact, most of Middle Earth has never heard of the Shire or even know we hobbits exist." He reached over and pulled out a map from under his desk.  
  
"Rivendell is about 18 days by pony from Bree in good weather if we stay to the road. We must be on our guard against ruffians wandering in the Wild, sudden bad weather such as snowstorms, and against wolves, wargs and other fell beasts in the winter. It will be a perilous journey made at that time of year, but there is no helping it if we are to be there by March 10th. I would prefer to travel in a well-organized troop of Men or Elves if possible. I wonder if Lord Elrond would send some of his people to Bree to accompany us? It is not wise to be traveling the East Road in winter without escort, even though the War is over." He put away the map and returned to his tea.  
  
"In his letter, Lord Elrond says he will provide an armed escort from Bree," Iris said. "They will meet us at someplace called the Prancing Pony Inn, around February 10th."  
  
Frodo stood, pulled Iris to her feet, and held her close. "There is one thing I want to make perfectly clear to you. Whilst I might undertake this trip by myself without escort, I will not risk your safety in such a dangerous journey. I feel safe in the Shire and even traveling to and from Bree. But if we reach Bree and the Elvish escort is not there, and we cannot arrange for our own armed escort, I shall cancel the trip and we will return to the Shire. Agreed?"  
  
"All right, Mister Baggins," she said as she fingered the buttons on his vest.  
  
"And not a word of this to anyone," Frodo said. "Especially not Sam. I have to devise a plan which will allow us to travel there without him, and without hurting his feelings."  
  
They sealed their pact with a kiss before the fire.  
  
--------------------  
  
Lord Elrond Half-Elven Master of Imlandis  
  
My dearest friend,  
  
To be succinct, Doctor Iris Proudfoot has convinced me to come with her to Rivendell prior to March 10th of next year. I will only agree to this plan if you guarantee to provide an armed escort from Bree to Rivendell and back, as I consider Miss Proudfoot to be more precious to me than my life. We will await the escort as you directed in your recent letter to Miss Proudfoot – staying at the Prancing Pony Inn until February 12th at the latest. If the escort does not arrive by then, we will abort this journey and return to the Shire. We will travel by pony.  
  
In the mean time, I have a favor to ask of you. Would you please inform Bilbo of our coming? I anticipate with joy seeing my esteemed Uncle once again. But I want Bilbo to know that I am bringing someone very special for him to meet.  
  
And I have an second request as well, if I may impose upon you. I would ask one of your most skilled artisans to construct an artifact as per the instructions and design included with this letter. Would you please involve Bilbo in this task? Perhaps he could be persuaded to personally oversee its construction? In any case, would you send the artifact to me at Bag End with all haste possible? I will be forever in your debt.  
  
Sincerely, Frodo Baggins Bag End, The Shire 


	9. The Gondorian Connection

Chapter 9: The Gondor Connection   
Chapter Rating: R (sexual situation)  
  
November 29th  
  
"Rose? I am off for dinner with Iris," Frodo called out as he put on his cloak and grabbed his walking stick. It was dark early, but at least it had stopped raining.  
  
Rose came over and adjusted his cloak. "You have a nice time, Mister Frodo. I'll be over at the Gaffer's this evening, should you be needin' me. I might bring him over here to spend the night if he's feelin' poorly again. If so, then I'll put him up in the back guest bedroom, sos to not disturb you if you're coming in late."  
  
"Does he have another cold?" Frodo inquired as he found his walking stick. Sam's elderly father was becoming increasingly frail and unable to completely look after himself.  
  
"A bit of a cough, but nothing serious," Rose replied. "I think he's just happy to have someone come over and talk to him. What with him bein' all alone in that nice, new smial and all. I mean, it's nice, but it's not the same as the old hole what was tore up by Sharky in the bad year. I know the Gaffer don't have any attachments to the new place. Not like his old smial. There aren't any family memories there for him. I think he's happiest over here with us instead of by himself, tell the truth. All his other children are scattered throughout the Shire and don't come see him as often as he would like. And he's not as spry as he used to be. Me and Sam help out when we can."  
  
"You are a blessing to him, Rose," Frodo smiled. "I know you have taken to doing his laundry as well as ours." Frodo stopped a moment. "Rose, when Sam gets back from his trip, why don't we all sit down and discuss what to do for Hamfast? Think about this for awhile. Why not have him move in with us here in Bag End? It certainly has the room. Would that make it easier to care for him? Or should we hire a nursemaid?"  
  
"Well, there's an idea, but his pride may get in the way." Rose pulled his cloak tightly around his chest. "I'll think on it and we'll discuss it later. Now, you go on and have a good time." Rose was delighted that Frodo and Iris were back together again, and encouraged Frodo to get out of Bag End as much as possible.  
  
Frodo kissed Rose on the cheek and headed out into the evening gloom. Within 30 minutes he was at Iris's house. The walk in the brisk evening air was refreshing, and seeing the sliver of the new moon brought an unexpected cheerfulness to his heart.  
  
The smell emanating from the kitchen was magnificent. Iris was pulling a roast out of the oven as he walked in. Beef, potatoes, carrots, parsnips, onions and mushrooms swimming in brown gravy! Dinner lasted quite awhile until the two were satiated. They repaired to the study and snuggled together on the little couch facing the roaring fireplace.  
  
After some small talk, Frodo cleared his throat and began. "Iris, I have been thinking about relocating to Minas Tirith in Gondor."  
  
"What's so special about Minus ... Minus what?" Iris asked, pulling the little sitting quilt over the two of them.  
  
"Minas Tirith, the capital of the Kingdom of Gondor. It is a large metropolitan city we visited after Sam and I were rescued from Mordor. It bore the brunt of the War and a lot of its outer ramparts and inner walls and gates were destroyed, but the city itself withstood the test. Right now it is the center of a lot of rebuilding activities. It houses the largest library on Middle Earth."  
  
Iris shifted a little to rest her head and hand on Frodo's chest. "Go on," she prompted.  
  
"I am sure I could convince my friend Aragorn, the King, to let me work in the library," he calmly said. "I would actually be useful there, and it would be a nice, quiet, safe place for my nerves. And the Gondorians are always in need of healers. Minas Tirith has a very large and well-stocked house of healing. I am certain that your services would be most welcome there."  
  
"Do any hobbits live there?" Iris quietly asked, playing with the buttons on his shirt. "Or do hobbits visit Minus Tirit?"  
  
"Minas Tirith," Frodo stroked her hair. "It is a kingdom of Men. And to answer your question, no. No hobbits live there. Minas Tirith is quite a distance from the Shire. I doubt if any hobbits will ever live there, or even visit."  
  
"Quite some distance from the Shire," Iris echoed back. "How far? A week's ride? Two weeks?"  
  
"Several month's ride," he quietly replied. There was silence for awhile.  
  
"Frodo, I've never seen one of the Big Folk before, much less treated one," Iris finally said. "I am not sure about my ability to heal one of their kind." She unbuttoned his shirt and slipped her hand inside, caressing his skin. "I've never visited a city before. I've never even been to Micheldelving. The longest trip I've made was moving here from Southway. I am not sure if I would want to travel all that distance to live in a world without fellow hobbits."  
  
Listening to Iris, Frodo realized just how insulated the Shire was from the rest of Middle Earth. "I guess I take for granted a lot of things I inherited from my Uncle Bilbo. You see Iris, we Bagginses have the wanderlust – the desire to travel and see new places. Meet new people. Bilbo taught me Sindarian and even some Quenya, and he used to entertain his dwarvish friends whenever they were traveling through the Shire. He can even read and write the Dwarvish runes, though I think he only knows a few words of their secret language." Her supple fingers were quite distracting. "I am still learning the runes."  
  
"Well, I've just met hobbits, and they are fine by me," Iris said. Her warm hand found a nipple, and she began to tease it. "High and mighty Men and Kings. They all sound so foreign and noble. I'm sure they are nice to have as friends and all. But could they be family? Could you live with them forever without seeing the likes of Sam or Rose or Merry or Pippin ever again?"  
  
"I don't know," he quietly replied, lost in the sensuousness of her touch. He had to clear his suddenly tight throat before he could speak. "Miss Proudfoot, did I ever tell you that you have the most wonderful hands?"  
  
"Thank you, Mister Baggins," she quietly laughed. "My mouth's pretty good too."  
  
He chuckled. "I have never met anyone like you, Iris."  
  
"Good thing too," she grinned and slid her hand around his side. "Otherwise someone else would be enjoying this evening with you and I would be very jealous."  
  
He shifted around so that he was lying down flat on the couch, Iris atop him. The fireplace paled in comparison to their heat. Within minutes the clothes were unfastened, but not shed. They made love partially clothed, unwilling to take the time to completely disrobe. It was passionate and sweet and sensuous, full of acceptance and hope. It was exactly what they both needed and desired.  
  
Iris found herself beneath him, her skirt bunched up around her waist, almost unaware of how she had gotten into such a position. Frodo laughed, trying to disentangle himself from his breeches and the lap quilt which had somehow become wrapped around his legs. She giggled and helped him remove the last of his clothes. In turn, he helped her stand, and then removed the rest of her own clothing.  
  
Frodo grabbed the wayward quilt and they lay down on the rug before the fire. They snuggled naked under the quilt, content in their afterglow. Frodo had never felt happier in his life.  
  
"How would you like to take a little exploratory trip to Micheldelving?" Frodo murmured, running his hand up and down her torso. 'Stars,' he thought, 'she has such nice curves.'  
  
"Really? Go to Micheldelving? At this time of the year?" Iris asked.  
  
"Certainly. The weather is still holding out fair and fine. We could visit the Mathom House. I have not been there in years, and there are things there which Bilbo donated which I would like to see again. We could even meet up with Doctor Havloc, if you like. You know - thank him for his judgment on the Wyncot's situation. He did invite you to visit someday, if I recall correctly."  
  
"I would love to visit their medical library," she said.  
  
"Then it is settled," Frodo grinned. "You need to get used to traveling on pony in inclement weather anyway, seeing as how you are dead set for traveling to Rivendell in February. This will be a good short training trip. One day traveling to Micheldelving, one day visiting, one day traveling back to Hobbiton. You need to prepare yourself mentally and physically for the longer, more arduous journey."  
  
"All right, it's settled," Iris kissed him.  
  
Frodo lay on his back, staring off into space. "This will also establish a pattern of the two of us, traveling about the countryside on ponies so that suspicions are not roused." He turned over and caressed Iris's face. "I am worried that Sam will suspect we are up to something and will find out about our Rivendell plans. He will do everything in his power to prevent me from leaving the Shire, you know."  
  
"He's very protective of you, isn't he?" Iris snuggled closer. "Why is that? It must be something beyond you two being very close friends."  
  
Frodo lay on his back again and reached over to bring Iris to his side. "He made a promise to Gandalf. A very personal promise. Just between them, and it haunts him to this day." Frodo pulled Iris close as she draped her arm over his chest. "Even before we left the Shire on our Quest, Gandalf made Sam promise that he wouldn't leave me. Ever. And Sam's a hobbit of his word. He never will let go of that promise. Not while he has breath left. But this promise is tearing him apart, now that he has Rose and they have a family on the way. And now that I am ... well, ..."  
  
"And ... you're on a different path than Sam?" Iris quietly questioned.  
  
"Yes," he smiled. "Did I ever tell you that you are a wellspring of subtlety, Miss Proudfoot?"  
  
"No," she laughed, "I've never been called that before! I'm usually accused of being too blunt for my own good. My mother once said if I didn't stop telling the naked truth I would never catch a nice young hobbit."  
  
Frodo leaned over and kissed the top of her head. "Well, I am not young, so keep telling me the truth, my dearest. Pay no attention to what your mother said."  
  
"If she could see me now," Iris whispered.  
  
Frodo snorted.  
  
"Oh, I mean ... Not literally see me ..."Iris sputtered. She suddenly started tickling Frodo. "Not THAT way! You silly beast. You know what I mean ..."  
  
Frodo writhed in pleasurable agony. "Stop!" he sputtered and laughed. "Uncle! I give!" It was no use. She continued her tickling torment. He finally grabbed her wrists, and with a sudden twist, he was once again atop her and the poor quilt pushed to one side.  
  
"Did I ever mention that you have the most torturous hands, Miss Proudfoot?" he gasped, continuing to hold her captive in his grasp.  
  
"No, but if you let me go I'll really show you what a proper tickling can mean," she laughed.  
  
"Just try," Frodo growled, letting her go only to pounce upon her sides with his own tickling. Iris shrieked and wiggled in an uncontrolled fit of simultaneous pleasure and almost-pain.  
  
"No! Stop!" she panted/giggled. "I give! Uncle! Uncle! Oh, Frodo! You win! Uncle!"  
  
They both collapsed in a fit of laughter. Neither could touch the other for several minutes, as their mutual heightened sense of touch brought about spasms of delight. They finally collapsed, completely spent, in each other's arms. The errant quilt once again regained it former glory as they stretched out before the embers in the fireplace.  
  
Iris propped herself up on one elbow and stroked Frodo's raven curls. She loved those curls. She loved him completely.  
  
"We should travel to Micheldelving within the next two weeks," Frodo said, "before the lovely late autumn weather gives way to cold winter rains and snow. A trip to Buckland or even Bree should be next...perhaps in December."  
  
"Don't push your luck, Mister Baggins," Iris countered. "Let's see how the Micheldelving trip goes first. And if that works out all right, we will adventure out on pony later."  
  
Frodo returned to Bag End well past midnight. He could hear Hamfast Gamgee snoring, even from as far away as the back guest bedroom. But it did not bother him tonight. Nothing could bother him tonight.  
  
Private Message:  
  
To: King Aragorn, son of Arathorn, of the house Strider Minas Tirith, the Kingdom of Gondor From: your loyal subject and friend, Frodo Baggins Bag End, The Shire, Kingdom of Arnor  
  
Dearest Strider,  
  
Please consider this message to be a secret between you and me. It would prove disastrous for me personally if its contents should be spoken aloud to anyone save yourself.  
  
Due to health considerations, I am considering relocating to a quiet, peaceful, secluded location. Upon reflection, Minas Tirith offers one such a possibility, if I can secure accommodations and avocation suiting my talents. I was wondering if you would be amenable to secretly hosting me as a librarian or historian in Minas Tirith on a possibly permanent basis? If such a position could be arranged at the Royal Library, I would entertain the idea of relocating from the Shire to the White City on a permanent basis. However, I must emphasize, this is only one of many possibilities I am considering. Hence, my need for secrecy. Even from the Lady Arwen, your most noble Queen and close confidant.  
  
Should a position be available for me, I might also consider bringing along a companion – a hobbitess physician. If we do decide to relocate, could you arrange for a position for her in the Houses of Healing? Please, though, for both our sakes, keep it secret. This is an inquiry only, as I am trying to assess all the options available to myself.  
  
I do hope this letter finds you and your loved ones safe and secure. I think about you often. May the Valor look upon your reign with favor, as they have already demonstrated in establishing your kingship.  
  
Your loyal subject, Frodo Baggins Bag End, The Shire, Arnor 


	10. The King's Reply

Chapter 10: The King's Reply  
Chapter Rating: PG  
  
January 21st  
  
"Please come inside. Here, let me take your cloak," Frodo brought the tightly-bundled hobbitess inside Bag End. The steady North wind was whipping up last night's light dusting of snow. "Please come into the study, Mrs. Waddle."  
  
Frodo gestured for the Hobbiton resident to follow him. Normally, Rose liked to answer the door, but she and Sam were over at the Gaffer's residence this morning, packing a few things to bring with them to Bag End.  
  
Hamfast Gamgee now had a bedroom of his own at Bag End, and infrequently spent one or two days at a time at the great smial. Hamfast insisted on using one of the smallest interior bed rooms in the back portion of Bag End.  
  
"Servants quarters is right and proper fer the likes of a Gamgee," he said, pointedly arching his eyebrows in disapproval at Sam and Rose's own luxurious living quarters in the front of the smial. The elderly Gaffer clearly did not relish living under the same roof as his former employer, but there was no helping it.  
  
It was an arrangement they could all live with, although Hamfast sometimes bothered Frodo by coming into his study and talking about potatoes and cabbages while Frodo was trying to work on the Red Book. Of course, Frodo also bothered Hamfast by occasionally reciting poetry aloud in Sindarian, which annoyed the elder gardener no end. Hamfast didn't see the need for 'fancy book learning' such as reading and writing and knowing another language. He had objected when Bilbo taught his youngest son, Samwise, his letters oh so many years ago.  
  
"Thank you, Mister Baggins," Hope Waddle smiled, her soft brown eyes lightly watering in the sudden warmth of the study. She sat in the proffered chair, and stared open-mouthed at the bookshelves lining the study's wall. "My goodness! I had no idea there were this many books in the whole Shire, much less here in Bag End!"  
  
"Yes, well, my Uncle Bilbo and I share a passion for collecting books. May I get you some tea and scones?" Frodo politely offered. It was unusual for him to receive visitors out at Bag End, especially in the cold winter when traveling could be difficult.  
  
"Oh, that would be very nice, thank you," Hope Waddle replied. She waited by the fire as Frodo disappeared into the kitchen, then shortly returned with the service.  
  
After he had seen to his guest's comfort, Frodo asked, "What can I do for you? Your letter indicated something about needing a special book ..."  
  
"That's right, Mister Baggins," Hope replied. "You see, it's like this. It's for my eldest – Toby. He's a real bookworm, that lad is. His dad taught him his letters early on and Toby has simply fallen in love with 'em. Can't get enough of 'em. He's already been through the five family books we own, and now he's borrowed the two my sister Claire owns, even though they are naught but family trees and boring histories."  
  
"It is a wonderful thing that your son shows such interest in books, Mrs. Waddle," Frodo smiled. "I imagine you have come to borrow some from my collection?"  
  
"Oh, no sir," she replied. "I would never presume. Though that might not be so bad a thing later on when the lad gets older." She placed her teacup down on the side table and folded her hands together in her lap. "You see, my 50th birthday is coming up in a couple of months, and I wanted to give Toby something extra special. I would like to give him a book for him to own. His very own book just for himself and no one else."  
  
"Oh, so you would like to purchase one from my library?" Frodo asked. He was not following her line of reasoning.  
  
"No," Hope shook her head. "Something even more special. I heard tell that you can actually write books. Is that true?"  
  
"Well, yes," Frodo gestured towards his desk. "I am working on a rather large book right now."  
  
"Mister Baggins, I was wondering if you would create a book just for my Toby," she blurted out. "Something that would keep a thirteen-year-old lad's interest, yet stretch his imagination and his vocabulary a bit. Something he would know was written specifically for him. Something he would never tire of reading, no matter how old he gets. Maybe something like one of those adventure stories the elder Master Bilbo Baggins used to tell us when we were small. Could you write that sort of book for Toby, Mister Baggins? I would pay you well for it. Sancho and I have been saving up for awhile for something like this for our boy."  
  
"Why, Mistress Waddle, what a wonderful idea," Frodo smiled. "I would be honored to do so. And yes, I do believe I could write down selected stories from my Uncle's adventures, plus a few from the ancient Elvish tales. They would heighten the imagination of any child."  
  
"I am having my birthday party on March 30th. Could it be ready by then?" she asked.  
  
Frodo thought for a moment. He and Iris were planning on leaving for their trip to Rivendell on February 7th. If everything worked out as he planned, they would not be returning until early April. He would have to create this book within the next two weeks, or she would have to wait until late April. That meant stopping work on the Red Book. "I shall endeavor to have it completed by February 5th, if that is suitable with you. It will prove to be a delightful break for me from the other, larger work."  
  
They settled on the price, exchanged a few more pleasantries, then Mrs. Waddle took her leave. Frodo helped her into her cloak and showed her out the front door just as the mail was arriving.  
  
"Morning Mrs. Waddle," the Shire Messenger stepped aside to let the hobbitess pass. "Special delivery for you, Mister Baggins. I wanted to be sure someone was ta home before bringin' it up the walk. Had ta use the pony cart cause of this, but my feet are not complainin' none. I'll be right back."  
  
Frodo stood in the doorway, watching the Messenger return to his cart to pick up a medium-sized wooden chest bound with leather straps and a large red wax seal across the latch. The Messenger carried it into Frodo's study and placed it on his desk. Frodo was about to close the front door when the Messenger stopped him.  
  
"Oh, I've another smaller package for you too, Mister Baggins." He reached into his pack and produced a little box wrapped in almost-translucent brown paper. "That's the lot. Good day to ye, Mister Baggins."  
  
Frodo took the second package, closed the front door and hurried back to the study. The smaller package was from Rivendell and was addressed to him in a familiar ancient spidery script. Frodo smiled. Bilbo had come through for him. He opened the intricately-carved wooden box, examined its contents, then placed the treasure in a cubbyhole in his desk. He next turned his attention to the larger package.  
  
Judging from the intricate design of a tree crowned with stars, Frodo could tell the chest was from Aragorn. Thankfully, the seal was intact. And thankfully, Frodo was alone in the smial when the chest arrived. Frodo was extremely curious, as he was only expecting a letter in reply from the King of Gondor; not a heavy treasure chest. He broke the seal and cut through the leather bindings, opening the chest.  
  
On top was an envelop with the same red wax seal guaranteeing its contents had not been tampered with. Frodo removed the letter and set it aside on the desk. Next out was a deep green silken drawstring sack. The smell coming from the bag was refreshing and familiar, but Frodo couldn't quite place it until he read the attached written instructions.  
  
"Athelas – Please give to your physician friend, with our complements. Much love, beloved Ringbearer, Arwen and Aragorn"  
  
Under the athelas bag were several hand-blown light green glass bottles carefully wrapped in soft cotton padding. Frodo unstopped one and took a cautious sniff. The scent reminded him of the salty sea breezes and ocean mists which sometimes came rolling up the Great River to reach Minas Tirith. He had smelled the sea only twice during his stay in the White City, but its scent was unmistakable. Somehow it had been captured in an aromatic oil. What a treasure! A little note written in a flowing feminine script read:  
  
"When heated slightly, these oils release relaxing and pleasant memories. When rubbed into the skin, they promote healing and help the fingers massage away cares and worries. When added to bathing water, they clean the body and refresh the soul. Remember your friends in the White City. You are always in our thoughts, most Blessed and Beloved Elf-Friend. Namarie, Arwen"  
  
There was another package under the cotton padding. This one was a leather pouch with another written message attached to its drawstring. It smelled strongly of smoked meat. The handwriting was quite different. Frodo didn't recognize it, but laughed aloud once he read the message.  
  
"Thought you could use a little reminder of your time in Ithilen. It's better than boiled wild rabbit without any dressing, in any case. Please come visit the new settlements. Legolas has brought down a contingent of Grey Elves and they live not far away. Eowyn also sends her regards. Much love, Faramir"  
  
The Prince of Ithilen had sent some smoked and dried game. The spices used in the preservation procedure were quite unlike anything used in the Shire. Frodo made the mistake of inhaling its aromas deeply at first, and was rewarded with a sudden uncontrollable sneezing fit. It felt like he had sniffed a pile of black pepper, only this spice was completely unknown to his poor nose. He wiped his running eyes and nose with his handkerchief, and placed the jerked meat off to one side. 'It will drive Sam nuts trying to figure out what spices were used,' he chucked. 'That is, if the spices do not kill him first.'  
  
In the bottom of the chest resided a true treasure. Aragorn had sent a book of the Kings of Numenor and a second book of Elvish poetry, as well as a detailed map of Gondor, Rohan and Arnor. Frodo was stunned. Each book was fully illuminated in gold, blue, green, red and even rare purple inks. He thumbed though the red leather bindings, marveling at the workmanship and exquisite detail. The Numenorian History even had a small map of the lost island kingdom attached to the book's spine. Frodo had never seen anything like it. Again, another small note was attached to the parcel.  
  
"Frodo – I thought I would take advantage of one of your quaint Shire customs. Please accept these as my gift to you on my birthday. Do not worry. I had copies of them made prior to sending these to you. They are yours now to add to your collection. May they bring you joy. Love, Strider"  
  
Frodo was at a loss for words. He sat down in his chair at the desk and wiped away a tear which had suddenly appeared. His hands shook slightly with suppressed emotion as he reached for the original sealed envelop. He broke the seal and began to read.  
  
--------- My dearest Frodo,  
  
Your letter reached my eyes intact. If this envelop reached you with its red wax seal of the Gondorian royal design in place, then we may be certain of the secrecy of our correspondence. I did as you asked, and have kept the real reason for your letter a secret, even from Arwen, though she gave me quite a hard time of it for the two weeks following the arrival of your letter. She suspects something, as I burned your letter after reading it, but I have remained true. I would only do this for you, my friend, as Arwen can be quite strong-willed at times, and living with an unhappy royal Elf is a hardship I would rather not have to endure a second time.  
  
It would be an honor to have the Ringbearer relocate to Minas Tirith, should you desire it. A position as King's Councilor would be most appropriate and welcome, as I hold your wisdom, intellect, judgment, compassion and bravery above all others, save Gandalf's. But if you seek solitude and contemplation more than the intrigues of the King's Court, then a position as official Court Historian, with working quarters in the Gondorian Court Library, is yours for the asking. Private living accommodations either in the city itself, or outside the walls in the little hills leading up to the city (which are somewhat similar to the gentle rolling hills of the Hobbiton area, and could be used to build a nice smial) could be arranged.  
  
If you wished to bring one friend or ten thousand, they would be most welcome. But another physician added to the Minas Tirith Houses of Healing would be a great boon to the city. Her skills would be particularly welcome if the physician could teach hobbit healing techniques to our own Healers.  
  
You would not be coming to a city of strangers. Gimli has brought some of his dwarvish relations down from the Blue Mountains and is living in Minas Tirith while overseeing reconstruction of the walls and streets. And Legolas is in the midst of bringing some of the Grey Elves down from Mirkwood to settle in the forests of Ithilien. Of course, Faramir and Eowyn reside in Ithilien but often come to Minas Tirith for visits and business. And all of Gondor and Rohan know of the existence of hobbits, after having met and witnessed you four hobbits from our Fellowship. To have the Ringbearer actually live in Minas Tirith would be a great honor not only for the city, but for all of Gondor and the race of Men as well. You would be honored and treated with the utmost respect for as long as you wished to remain.  
  
I have kept your plans secret, as you asked. However, hiding the fact that a hobbit or two would be living in Minas Tirith might be difficult. Since I have issued a decree which has basically stopped human intrusion into the Shire, it might prove impossible to delay discovery, should you come here to live. Living in the city itself on the fifth level (same as the Houses of Healing and the Library) would make for minimal exposure between the hobbit and human population, if that is what you wish. But in any case, the White City and its citizens would welcome you and the physician with open arms and much honor.  
  
Please give our love to Samwise, Meriodoc and Peregrin, when you see them next. You are constantly in our thoughts. The wisdom of Elbereth guide you in your decision.  
  
Aragorn of the house Strider King of Gondor and Arnor  
  
---------------- Frodo smiled. Gondor might work. It was a possibility, even if a remote one. He had to convince Iris to leave the Shire permanently and that would take some persuasion. However, the most difficult part of this whole scheme might not be Iris. It might be Sam. Eventually he would have to tell Sam. Sam would feel guilty about not being able to go with him. And Frodo had no illusions about the move to Gondor. It was a one-way decision. He would never see Sam or the Shire again. Damn that promise Sam made to Gandalf. It was like a noose around both their necks now.  
  
This would require careful timing in order to pull it off without causing Sam too much grief. If Frodo waited until after Sam's child was born, it would make Sam's choice to remain in the Shire easier. And if a miracle happened and Rose became pregnant again soon, that would effectively prevent Sam from ever following.  
  
'Too many ifs,' Frodo frowned. 'Too many problems. Gondor might not be the answer' His musings were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.  
  
"We're home, Mister Frodo," Sam called out. "Beastly cold out there too. Wish we could just walk under the hill rather than all that way around it. Come on, Da. Let's get you warmed up by the fire."  
  
Frodo placed the King's letter back into its envelop and quickly tucked it away in a hidden drawer inside his desk. Frodo hurried into the hallway. "Come on into the study everyone! You will never believe what the Messenger service brought with today's mail. We received a care package from Gondor!" 


	11. Frozen Waterfall

Chapter 11: Frozen Waterfall  
Chapter Rating: R (sexual situations)  
  
January 21st (later that evening)  
  
"Good night, Opal," Iris called out into the freezing night air.  
  
"Good night, Iris," came the reply. "See you tomorrow."  
  
Iris was just closing up her offices and dismissing Opal Boffin, her cousin-in-law and physician's apprentice. Opal had decided to follow her dream of being a doctor rather than continuing her needlework. She had been assisting Iris in the medical practice for several months now. Iris was teaching her the same way Iris was taught in Southway; a hand-on apprenticeship lasting several years. Iris had agreed, sensing a need to have another physician for Hobbiton trained in case she became incapacitated or had to leave the Shire with Frodo.  
  
Almost immediately after closing the front door and turning the sign around, Iris heard a soft knock on the wood. It was Frodo.  
  
"Gracious, come in out of the cold," she said as she hustled him into the reception area. "Come on back by the fire. I just made a pot of tea. Would you like some?"  
  
"Thanks," he smiled and gave her a kiss. "I tried the back door, but I guess you were still with a patient." He took off his cloak, gloves and outer jacket and stacked his walking stick beside the fireplace. Iris could see he was dressed for being outdoors. She bustled off into the kitchen while he waited by the fire. She soon returned and they sat on the hearth, sipping the warm nectar and nibbling on toast and marmalade.  
  
Frodo seemed rather distracted. They exchanged banal pleasantries while enjoying the tea. Iris allowed him his introspective quietness, content to watch him toy with the cup and saucer while thinking about something. He was quietly excited but not yet willing to tell her. She was patient.  
  
Frodo finally put the cup and saucer atop the mantle and cleared his suddenly tight throat. "Iris, would you like to take an evening stroll with me?"  
  
"Let me change into something a bit warmer, then we'll go," she smiled and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. His eyes followed her until she disappeared into her bedroom. She soon returned dressed in a couple of layers of warm woolen clothing, her winter coat, a scarf and mittens. Frodo pulled on his outer coat, cloak and gloves, grabbed his walking stick, and they were out the back door.  
  
The sun had set very early and it was quite dark outside. The stars were stunning in their clarity in the cold winter sky. There was no moon; no clouds. Only cold starlight and a slight haze from the fireplaces of the town. The two hobbits headed out into the cold dark, Frodo leading the way as confidently as if it were bright daylight.  
  
"Frodo?" Iris was curious, "Just how well can you see in the dark?"  
  
"Oh," he slowed down a bit, "Sorry. I forget that others do not see as well as I. It is one of the side effects of my wounding. Ever since that night I have been able to see quite clearly in the dark. Especially in starlight." He smiled. "It seems to be the only good thing which came out of that stabbing."  
  
Frodo lead them out of Hobbiton and into the still countryside North of town. They walked for about an hour until Frodo found a little cutoff path leading into the hillside behind a quiet farm. They passed a vacant guest house and followed a little stream coated with ice. The cold water gurgled quietly under the glittering thin crust. Frodo carefully lead Iris back into a secluded glade where they were met with a wondrous sight. A small frozen waterfall sparkled like crystal and diamonds in the starlight.  
  
"Oh, Frodo," Iris cried, "it's beautiful. I've never seen anything like it. How in the world did you find it?"  
  
"Peony told me about it at their wedding party," he smiled. "I have been coming by throughout the winter, watching it slowly freeze up. Here. Let's sit down and enjoy the quiet."  
  
Frodo took off his cloak and spread it out on a boulder beside the waterfall's partially-frozen pool. The little clearing above the icy pond framed a window up to the stars. As they sat in the inky silence, Frodo recited Elvish legends of the First Age and earlier concerning the stars and the twilight time of Arda before the coming of the moon and sun. Iris was entranced. He seemed more Elvish than hobbit tonight with the starlight gleaming in his raven hair, totally at home in the night and cold.  
  
But Iris was all hobbit, and the chill was beginning to effect her. She shivered and pulled her hood closer about her face. Frodo gathered her to himself and enveloped her in his warm embrace. It was magical and wonderful, but also slightly melancholy.  
  
"Frodo," she whispered in the darkness, "I know I have kept you at a distance since you told me about possibly leaving to sail to the West with the Elves. I am sorry. I was upset and angry that you would even consider leaving me. I've fallen in love with you, Mister Baggins. And I now realize I was wrong to push you away. If you must leave Middle Earth in order to find the healing you need, I will not stand in your way. Nor will I turn my back to you ever again. You've captured my heart, and there is nothing I can do about it except to trust you with it." She kissed him in the starlight and the cold wind wisped away a slight white vapor as their lips parted.  
  
He sighed and smiled slightly. "Iris, I love you very much. As much as I desire healing, I cannot imagine living without you by my side."  
  
He removed his glove and caressed her face with his naked hand. "I am willing to give up possible healing in the Blessed Realm in order to remain with you." He looked at her in the starlight and could see tears shining in her green eyes. "Iris, if you will have me, would you marry me?"  
  
A tear slipped from her lashes as she blinked in surprise. In the brilliant starlight his eyes appeared black and intense as they eagerly sought her answer. "Yes, Frodo Baggins, I will marry you. And together we will find a place where you may find peace."  
  
He didn't realize he had been holding his breath until he let out a sigh, his warm exhalation captured by the slight breeze. He closed his eyes and silently voiced a prayer of thanks to Elbereth and the powers of Arda which had sent Iris to him. She laid her head under his chin, wrapped in his arms, her own under his cloak pulling him to herself in a tight embrace. They remained wrapped in each other's limbs until the chill forced him to disentangle themselves and stand.  
  
"Let's go back to my place," Iris said. "I'll get the fire going and we can warm up and have a nice late dinner." They started back towards the road to Hobbiton and reached the physician's building after an hour's walk.  
  
After removing their outerwear, they separated into different parts of the building. Frodo built up the fire in the living room while Iris pulled together some apples and bread and cheese, and warmed up a bit of cider with cinnamon. She took the repast into her living room and placed them on the fireplace hearth to keep them warm as they snacked. Frodo was standing with his back to the fire, his hands behind his back and with only the faintest grin twinkling in his eyes.  
  
"You are up to something, Mister Baggins," she teased. "What have you behind your back? Not another matching dress and vest, I hope."  
  
"Something much smaller and lighter," he smiled. "I wanted to make sure of your answer before showing you." He brought his hands around and Iris saw a small wooden box in his left hand. He handed it to her. "Go ahead. Open it. I had it made for you by the Elves in Rivendell."  
  
Starlight caught her eye as she opened the intricately-carved lid. It was a small, perfectly clear faceted jewel captured within a silvery mithril setting shaped like a delicate leaf, and all suspended upon a thin silver necklace. The clear jewel sparkled in the firelight, twinkling every color of the rainbow, but mostly a silvery-white.  
  
"Oh, Frodo, it's beautiful!" she cried. "Would you put it on me, please?" She turned around and lifted her braid. He reached around her neck and closed the clasp. The jewel nestled just above her breasts, flashing white, pink, green and blue in the firelight. It only reflected the desire in their eyes for each other.  
  
Dinner and the cider were momentarily forgotten. No words were said as Frodo removed his vest while Iris began to unbutton his shirt, running her fingertips over his alabaster chest. They were soon standing on the rug, naked save for silvery necklaces. Frodo's was the white jewel Arwen had given him in Gondor. Iris's was its mate – similar, yet different.  
  
Frodo stepped forward and captured her warm rosy mouth with his lips, closing the short distance remaining between them. The taste of cinnamon lingered on her moist breath. Her arms instinctively circled his hard torso, lightly brushing down his back to clasp his firm buttocks in her hands. He loost her braid; her curly brown hair spilling down her back, tickling his sensitive fingers.  
  
They made love in front of the fire, achingly slowly. Stretching out their desire until their mutual needs could no longer be denied. It was the marriage of fire and ice. The warmth and wildness of the roaring fireplace and the chill controlled beauty of starlight captured by silver chains. The earth and the sky melting into each other. One heart shared for all time.  
  
They lay in the heat of their own afterglow and the light of the coals burning in the fireplace. Frodo lay propped up on his right elbow, his torso and legs pressed up against hers. He played with her breasts, gently kneading one and caressing it with the palm of his left hand, occasionally playing with the nipple and tracing vague patterns from one nipple to the other. The jewel flashed brilliant colors from its new home between her breasts.  
  
Iris watched him absentmindedly playing with her skin, watching her body respond to his soft, slightly hesitant touch. He was so curious about how she would react. 'He must have not had much physical contact when he was growing up,' she thought. 'Of course he wouldn't, you ninny. His parents died when he was young, and he's been raised by an elderly and rather formal bachelor uncle. He's probably been starved for pure physical touch for decades, and now can't get enough of the sensation.' There was so much to learn about him. So much to explore together.  
  
She was brought out of her reverie when he placed his hand on her belly and captured her eyes with a look that pierced her soul. She smiled and blew him a kiss. He responded by climbing atop her again and kissing her below the ear and lightly tonguing his way up to her ear tip. She squirmed with ticklish pleasure. 'How did he know about that area?' she pondered. 'I wonder how many girls he's had before me.'  
  
"I have a favor to ask," he whispered into her wet ear.  
  
"Not fair," she panted, "You know I'll agree to just about anything right now in the state I am in."  
  
"Could we have a private joining ceremony in Rivendell when we go?" he quietly asked. "Bilbo is too old and frail to travel, and I would very much like for him to see us married before he leaves."  
  
"My love," Iris answered, "of course. That is very sweet and kind of you."  
  
"Then I shall send news ahead to Rivendell so that neither he nor Lord Elrond is surprised when we arrive together," Frodo smiled. 


	12. Good NewsBad News

Chapter 12: Good News/Bad News  
Chapter Rating: PG  
  
January 22nd  
  
Frodo returned to Bag End the next afternoon, silently slipping into the front hallway and softly clicking the door shut. He was hoping to not disturb the irritable Hamfast Gamgee should Sam's father be taking his accustomed post-lunch nap. But Frodo evidently didn't have to worry about that possibility as he hung up his cloak and gloves and put away his walking stick. He could hear voices coming from his study.  
  
"No. I don't think that's right. I distinctly remember seeing the lights coming up the tree trunk our first night there."  
  
"No you didn't. You and Pippin were asleep before Haldir came back up the tree. Honestly, Merry, he's got it right. You were asleep and he stayed up all night listening to the Elves talk. You know he understands Elvish and you don't. Maybe you heard something, but I doubt it, what with all the noise you make snoring."  
  
"Humph," Merry snorted, "that was Pippin. I've never understood how such a loud sound can come out of his little honker."  
  
Frodo tip toed down the hallway and peeked in. Sam and Merry were inside his study; Sam holding up a chapter from the "Red Book" in front of him and pointing to a passage. He had evidently been reading it aloud just prior to Frodo walking in the door. Merry was standing with his back to the hallway door, looking at a new map recently inked in by Frodo.  
  
"Oh! Mister Frodo!" Sam squeaked as Frodo strode into the room, eyes twinkling and laughing at catching his friends red-handed. "I didn't hear you come in. Look, I'm terrible sorry about bein' in your study and reading your book and all. We'll just leave now. Honestly, sir, I wouldn't mess up your work or nothing." Sam was flustered. He quickly put the loose pages back atop Frodo's desk. One scattered away and headed directly towards the open hearth. Sam snatched it before it had a chance to hit the fire, uncreased it and respectfully placed it on top of the stack. He patted the stack of papers such as you would pat a child on the head, and grinned at Frodo in embarrassment.  
  
Merry wasn't as embarrassed as Sam. He turned and simply said, "Hello, cousin. So, this is what you've been working on holed up in here all this time. Nice map, but it's of the Lonely Mountain out by Dale. We didn't go anywhere near that. But the dragon does look nice." He continued to study it until he was satisfied, then rolled it up and tied it closed with its attached white ribbon.  
  
Frodo smiled. "Sam, I know about your reading the books when I am not around. I know you have been doing the same since Bilbo was here. Relax. You are always welcome to browse the library any time you desire. I promise to not tell Hamfast about it. Just leave my work desk alone, all right? I am in the midst of two different projects and would hate to have them mixed up."  
  
Sam swallowed hard and meekly nodded. Merry grinned as he placed the map back atop the stack of papers on the desk. He had grown up with his cousin at Brandy Hall before Frodo was adopted by Bilbo, and could easily read Frodo's moods. Frodo was actually in one of his increasingly rare happy moods today.  
  
"Been catching up on your beauty sleep in Hobbiton again?" Merry crinkled his nose in a wicked leer and winked. Sam punched him on the arm. "Ow!"  
  
"Naught of your business, you letch," Sam admonished. Frodo merely crossed his arms in front, cocked an eyebrow and smiled mysteriously. "Please forgive your idiot cousin, Mister Frodo," Sam continued. "His Da never taught him no manners. Raised in the barn, he was."  
  
"Well, I hear Merry's been spreading his beauty sleep all around the Shire," Frodo retorted. "At least I have the sense to only court one lady at a time. And I do not have irate fathers coming after me with pitchforks."  
  
"That was a simple misunderstanding," Merry made innocent eyes and grinned. "Those Underhill sisters look so much alike. They kiss pretty much alike in the dark too."  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. Frodo laughed and hugged his cousin. "Great to see you, Merry! And Sam. I am so glad you are both here. Let me get us some ale. I feel like doing a little celebrating." Frodo strode past his friends and off towards the back of the smial.  
  
Merry looked at Sam and shrugged his shoulders. Sam shook his head. Neither one knew why Frodo would be wanting to celebrate, but they followed him into the kitchen. He tossed a mug to each as they came into the room, grabbed a candle, then beckoned them follow him into the cellar.  
  
"Must be something special if you're tapping the Prancing Pony keg," Merry said. "So, what are we celebrating?"  
  
"Not that you need any excuse to drink an ale, Captain Brandybuck," Sam grinned, giving Frodo his mug for tapping.  
  
Frodo finished drawing ales for everyone, then raised his mug. "My lads, you are looking at a gentlehobbit who is now engaged to be married."  
  
Sam's mouth flew open.  
  
"Well, I'll be hog-tied and gagged with a duck!" Merry slapped Frodo on the back. "Never thought I would see the day when a Baggins got married! Especially not you. Congratulations, Frodo. Sam...Sam...Close your mouth before it becomes a fly trap."  
  
Frodo grinned at seeing Sam so stunned and took a sip of his ale.  
  
"So," Merry wiped the froth from his upper lip, "who's the poor old sod who agreed to marry you?"  
  
"Meriodoc Brandybuck," Frodo wagged his finger at his cousin and laughed, "you are a rascal through and through. Some day I am going to tell Iris you called her a 'poor old sod' and then you will have to deal with her wrath directly, and I shall not come to your rescue."  
  
Sam finally recovered and cleared his throat by taking a long sip of his ale. "Congratulations Mister Frodo! So, when are you and Miss Proudfoot jumpin' the broom?"  
  
"Sometime in mid-March. But we are traveling to Rivendell to get married. I want Bilbo to officiate the occasion."  
  
Merry suddenly frowned and put down his mug atop the barrel.  
  
"But, Mister Frodo," Sam sputtered, "that's close by when Rosie's due to deliver. She can't ride to Rivendell. I mean ... We can't go. Couldn't you get married here sometime after the baby's born? Or have Master Bilbo travel over and have a big ole proper weddin' and all?"  
  
"Um, Sam," Frodo gently smiled, "to be quite frank about things, I do not know how much longer Bilbo will be with us. After all, he is extremely old, and I do not wish to make him travel at that advanced age. Iris and I will go to Rivendell for a very private ceremony – just us and Bilbo and Lord Elrond, I imagine. And Gandalf, if he is around. It will really please Bilbo for us to come over. Then when we come back, we can have another, larger party, if that is what Iris wants. That will be after your baby is born. How does that sound?"  
  
"Well, I can see your point about Master Bilbo," Sam had to admit. "I just wish...Well, you deserve a right large wedding and all. I mean, something with fireworks and poetry and dancing and lots of friends. Gandalf should be here. Aragorn and Arwen and even the Lady of the Woods too. If anyone deserves it, you do."  
  
"No thank you, Sam," Frodo shook his head. "I prefer a very quiet, small ceremony. Nothing loud. I do not think I could take a public celebration. My nerves cannot handle much excitement anymore."  
  
Merry cleared his throat and spoke up. "There's another problem, Frodo. One you probably don't know about. Why don't we go back to the study?"  
  
Frodo looked at Sam, who once again shook his head. Sam suddenly felt like he didn't know anything anymore. Frodo shrugged his shoulders and they followed Merry back into the study. They all sat down and Merry continued.  
  
"I frequently travel between Buckland, Crickethollow, Hobbiton and Bree. You know...doing a bit of trade with the Breelanders and overseeing the Shirriffs." He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.  
  
"Look, there's been a lot of movement of Men from the East up into the Old Forest and into the Bree area. Deserters and former members of the defeated Easterling armies. I don't think Tom Bombadil is in the Old Forest anymore and the trees are growing wild again. And there are few Dunedain left to provide safety on the East Road and the Greenway Road south to Rohan and Gondor, much less protect the Shire borders. I've organized the Buckland Shirriffs into a volunteer hobbit patrol to at least keep the Shire borders secure. I'm working with the Breelanders on getting patrols started on the East Road from Buckland to Bree. But that's not in place yet."  
  
Frodo was beginning to look worried. This was not good news. Sam frowned and turned his chair around to straddle it. Merry continued.  
  
"Frodo, the last time I was at the Prancing Pony I overheard some troubling news. There's a price on your head. My dear cousin, the Easterling men have a good description of you too – dark haired pale skinned hobbit about age 50 with only nine fingers. And they know you live in the Shire. You're wanted dead or alive by the captain of the Easterling army. They blame you for their defeat. You and Strider that is. And since they can't touch the King, they're going after you. I've increased the Shire border patrols, but it's not safe for you to be traveling out of the Shire. I'm afraid some of our own might even be tempted to violence against you in order to claim the reward."  
  
"I bet I can guess who you're talking about too," Sam said darkly, setting his ale down. "Look, Mister Frodo, with that sort of news you shouldn't be traveling about for any reason. Especially not to and from Rivendell. And especially not with your lass."  
  
Frodo set his own mug down atop some papers on his desk and crossed his arms. "Sam – I will not be caged simply because some idiot has blamed me for their misfortunes. I am a free citizen of the Shire and the Kingdom, and I will come and go when and where I desire."  
  
"That's all well and good for you, but what about Iris's safety?" Merry asked. "There are plenty of free warriors in Bree wouldn't think twice about killing anyone in your company as long as they ended up with your head on a pike."  
  
"And if they knew you two were engaged, well, they might hobbitnap her to get at you," Sam quietly said. The air suddenly became thick with imagined unpleasantries.  
  
Frodo unconsciously started rubbing the stump of his missing finger. He couldn't risk telling Merry and Sam the real reason behind his decision to go to Rivendell in late February. "This does complicate matters. But I am determined that Bilbo is going to officiate at our joining ceremony. I will not let a rumor change my plans. And we won't be leaving until later. We have time to take precautions."  
  
"Precautions?" Sam sputtered. "It's best to not go! Jump the broom here and stay here. That's all there is to it. No need to be taking unnecessary trips."  
  
"At least start wearing your mithril coat again, please?" Merry said. "I am serious about this, Frodo. Take precautions. And start taking them now."  
  
"I hate wearing that thing," Frodo frowned. "I mean, it is not uncomfortable or bulky, but it reminds me so much of...of...well, you know. I really am loathe to wear it again."  
  
Sam got out of his chair and walked over to a large cedar chest under the window. He pulled out a non-descript brown wooden box and brought it over to Frodo. "Merry's right. You may not want to wear it, but it's the best protection for you, and you know it."  
  
Frodo held the box but would not open it. Sam removed the lid and pulled the luminous chain mail from its protective paper wrapping. It made a soft chinking sound as he shook the kinks out.  
  
"If you don't start wearing it, I'll start following you around," Sam stared intently at Frodo. "Somebody's got to protect your stubborn skin, even if you won't. And carry Sting with you when you go out again."  
  
Frodo stood up and took the mithril coat out of Sam's hands, the box and lid falling to the floor with a clatter.  
  
"No! I told you before that I will not carry a sword ever again." Frodo was now angry. He looked between his two friends. He could read the unspoken determination in their eyes. Sam's threat was genuine. And Merry would back him up on it, possibly even bringing in the Shirriffs as an armed escort. Frodo would see no way out of this dilemma except a partial capitulation.  
  
Frodo looked down at the chain mail in his hands. He sighed and looked up at Sam. "I will endure the mithril coat again for your sake," he said, poking Sam in the chest, "but I will NOT carry Sting around inside the Shire. I will carry it outside the Shire, but I will travel unarmed in my own homeland."  
  
Sam knew it was time to back off. "Well, all right, as long as you wear that mithril. Promise Merry and me that you'll wear it any time you go outside."  
  
"All right. I promise. I do not like it, but I promise." 


	13. A Knife in the Daylight

Chapter 13: A Knife in the Daylight  
Chapter Rating: PG-13 (violence, language)  
  
Others in the Shire besides Merry learned of the reward for Frodo's head. Ted Sandyman overheard the gossip a couple of weeks earlier from his Bree cousins who were visiting the Shire. It seemed the answer to all his problems. The perfect way to get rid of the bothersome Frodo Baggins and improve Ted's fortunes. Ted thought up a plan to take Frodo captive and turn him over to some Men free warriors in Bree. They would pay handsomely for the Ringbearer. One cousin agreed to be the intermediary between Ted and the Men. The meeting was arranged. Everything was set. After work Ted and Dibble retired to their usual table at the Little Fishies Inn.  
  
"Look, Dibble," Ted whispered over his beer to his friend, "I don't want to kill Frodo. Just, you know, rough him up a bit. Then turn him over to the Big Folk I know. I've already arranged fer them to be awaiting fer us outside the Shire borders tomorrow. They'll take that stinkin' Baggins off my hands once and fer all. And we'll get some gold out of it ta boot!"  
  
"Teddy," Dibble whispered back, "I won't do it! Not this time. And don't you do it neither! You're in over yer head on this one, you is. You can't trust Big Folk. They're a shifty lot. It ain't right neither. I don't care how bad you hate him. You jest don't do that to another hobbit! It's like you're killin' him yerself, even if you don't do tha actual dirty work. And don't be thinkin' Mister Baggins is some sort o' softie, neither. Remember, he's been ta war down South an all."  
  
"Been ta war down South? Well, I hear tell he didn't do no actual fightin. Not like the Brandybuck and the Took." Ted grumbled. "And even if he did see some fightin, he couldn't stand up to me or you. But what sort of a pal are you when ya won't come with me and take the ole sissy-britches on?"  
  
"The sort that don't want no part in this, that's what sort I is," Dibble shook his head.  
  
"Look, Dibble, it'll be real easy," Ted continued. "He's come back ta Shire all wounded-like, so he won't be no problem fer the likes of us strong lads what work for a livin'. He fair crumpled up when I hit 'im in the shoulder that time at the Green Dragon. I been watching Frodo's movements for weeks now. Each Friday that righteous bastard goes to Hobbiton to meet with the doc. Sometimes they stay there. Sometimes they go on long walks in the countryside. But he always goes alone from Bag End down to Hobbiton at the same time every Friday. Every frickin' Friday. Just like clockwork, he is." Ted snickered. "And he don't never carry no weapons neither. Tomorrow's the day. I got it all worked out. The Big Folk are already to take him off my hands."  
  
"I don't wanna hear 'bout it," Dibble crossly said. "I done told ya I don't want no part in this, Teddy. Now leave me be. This is one time when I'm not gonna help ya out." Dibble stood up and stiffly walked away.  
  
"But ... but Dibble," Ted whined, "I was countin' on ya."  
  
"Well, count me out!" Dibble growled as he went out and slammed the door behind him.  
  
"Stupid chicken pansy," Ted grumbled into his beer. "He can't tell a good deal from bad. Well, that'll leave all the gold ta me! I mean, how hard could it be to hobbitnap an old soft hurt bookworm like Baggins? Show him the cool glint of steel and he'll be all mine." Ted patted the hard hilt of his work knife, drained his beer and headed out into the chill night air.  
  
Ted waited for an hour in the winter's frost the next day. Awaiting the moment when Frodo would walk by himself down the lonely road to Hobbiton. And sure as clockwork, shortly after 2:30, Ted's target appeared rounding the corner. Frodo was paying little attention to his surroundings, lost in thought and softly humming to himself. He strode down the frozen roadway, using his walking stick to steady himself against the occasional icy patch. His travel-worn Elvin cloak fluttered slightly in fitful gusts of wind out of the lead-grey skies.  
  
Ted hid in the rusty-brown dead bracken lining the crossroads from Bywater; his heart pounding in anticipation. He no longer noticed the cold. He could feel little beads of sweat trickle through his thick chestnut hair and down his back. The frozen mud began to melt and puddle from the warmth of his feet. Ted concentrated on controlling his breathing. Couldn't let the stinkin' Baggins hear him. Just a little closer. A little closer ...  
  
'Perfect,' Ted thought, cautiously looking around one last time to make sure they were alone. 'Just me and him.' Ted drew his knife. Its chilled metal felt slightly slick as he gripped it in his sweating palm. Ted stepped out of the heather as Frodo passed through the intersection. In an instant Ted closed in behind his prey, clasping one hand over Frodo's mouth and sliding the knife up against Frodo's right side. Frodo skidded to a stop, stiffening in surprise.  
  
"Now, don't make no noise, Frodo," Ted whispered in his ear. "Jest come wid me, and I'll not tickle yer ribs with me steel. Come on. We're goin' ta take a nice little walk to see some Big Folk friends 'o mine."  
  
Frodo stunned his assailant by forcefully throwing all his weight backwards into Ted's stomach. Ted released his hold, allowing Frodo to spin around, cloak whipping in fury. Frodo instantly shifted his walking stick into both hands in a defensive gesture.  
  
"Ted! What are you doing?" Frodo was confused at seeing that it was a fellow hobbit who had accosted him.  
  
"If ya don't come quietly wid me, Baggins, I might have ta make a little side trip in ta Hobbiton and take it out on yer pretty little bit of strumpet," Ted sneered, waving the knife at Frodo's face. "And ya wouldn't want ta be the cause o' somethin' nasty happenin' ta the Doc, now would ya? Come on. Drop yer stick and we'll take our nice little Friday walk, eh?"  
  
Frodo feinted with the staff as Ted lunged at him with the knife. Ted quickly realized he had chosen a terrible place for his ambush. The icy roadway was on an incline and only partially frozen. It instantly turned into slippery mud. Ted could not find good footing for his attack. However, neither could Frodo mount a secure defense. They both ended up loosing their footing in the slippery mire and ice, landing hard on the roadway. Frodo maintained his grip on the walking stick and attempted to incapacitate his assailant with a punch to the gut. But Ted grabbed the stick in one hand and used it to pull himself closer to his prey. They ended up in a tangle of grappling limbs, muddy flailing cloaks, and one terribly sharp knife.  
  
"You leave Iris out of this," Frodo hissed through clenched teeth.  
  
Frodo was forced to drop his staff in an attempt to wrest the deadly knife out of Ted's right hand. Sandyman made another lunge with the knife, stabbing Frodo directly in the stomach. But mysteriously, the knife slid off something metallic under Frodo's clothes, slicing Frodo's left forearm instead. Frodo desperately reached over for his discarded walking stick, and whacked Ted's head with it, causing the knife to skitter away into a patch of semi-frozen muck.  
  
The two combatants simultaneously leapt into the mud, reaching for the loose weapon. Ted fingered it first, but Frodo scrambled on top of him, mud spattering everywhere. Ted could hear the chink of metal links under Frodo's now-filthy clothes. Frodo's grip on Ted's wrist slipped in the mud, and Ted seized his opportunity. He stabbed blindly and with grim satisfaction, felt his knife sink into Frodo's flesh.  
  
Frodo's eyes widened in pain, then took on a maniacal glint. He spat directly into Ted's face. Surprised, Ted sputtered and let go of the knife in order to claw the filth out of his eyes. That was all it took. With his left hand, Frodo grabbed Ted by the hair, pulled his head back, and then with his right hand ripped the knife out of his own thigh and jabbed the bloody point up under Ted's throat. Ted squeaked in panic, legs flailing wildly against his enraged former prey.  
  
Frodo was no longer battling an incredibly frightened and filthy fellow hobbit. Frodo looked upon a more familiar face. A too-familiar face from his recent past. A face with two enormous pale glowing eyes. Gollum's face. Frodo was back at Emyn Muil again, struggling for his life with Gollum.  
  
Unfortunately, Ted did not know this. The knife point pricked through his skin, causing a small trickle of warm blood to run down his exposed throat.  
  
"If you move any more I'll slit your worthless throat," Frodo growled, the deadly intent of his words crystal clear with each frosty breath. Ted stopped, his hands frozen in an instinctive gesture of surrender.  
  
"This is Sting. You have seen it before once upon a time. I will not hesitate to kill you, Gollum, if you do not do exactly as I say."  
  
"Who's? Who's Gollum?" Ted managed to squeak out through labored gasps. He had never seen Frodo like this. What had happened to the pacifist bookworm he knew? Ted couldn't control his body and wet himself in his terror. "Please, Frodo, please don't hurt me no more. Please don't kill me! Oh, stars, please don't kill me! I promise to leave you alone from now on! Oh, please Frodo. Don't!"  
  
"You have to swear to me before I will release you," Frodo panted. Sweat rolled off his face, mingling with Ted's and his own blood on the knife. But he did not release Ted's hair, nor waver in pressing the knife slightly deeper into Ted's throat. "Swear. Swear by the Precious." Frodo's leg bled profusely, staining the icy mud crimson and spattering onto Ted's own breeches to become a stain diluted with Ted's steaming urine.  
  
"The Precious?" Ted was sobbing. "I don't know what you're talkin' about. Swear what?"  
  
"Swear!" Frodo screamed, pressing the knife even deeper into Ted's skin. "Swear by the Precious that you won't harm It or me or anyone in the Fellowship! Swear!"  
  
"I swear! I swear!" Ted cried out, weeping in his panic. "By the Precious, by whatever you want. I swear I won't try to do ya no more harm. Nor harm the whatever-it-is, nor anyone in your Fellowship. I swear! Please don't kill me, Frodo. Please? Oh, stars! Please don't kill me, Frodo! Don't kill me, Frodo! I swear!"  
  
Frodo narrowed his eyes and stared intently at Ted for a moment, then slowly removed the knife from Ted's throat. Frodo was panting heavily. Why was his leg hurting him so much? He released his grip from Ted's hair and rocked backwards from sitting on Ted's chest. Ah! His leg! He looked down to see a river of blood pooling atop the icy muck.  
  
Ted seized the moment of Frodo's confusion and pain. He shoved Frodo hard in the chest, sending the wounded hobbit spiraling into the mud still clutching the knife. In a moment Ted was running down the shortcut path. Running for his life.  
  
Frodo was panic-stricken, angry and confused all at the same time. 'Gollum!' he thought. 'Gollum's tried to take the Ring!' He dropped the knife and frantically searched for the familiar silver chain around his neck. There was a silver chain, but it did not contain the Precious. Some useless gemstone hung there instead. 'It's not there!' He searched the mud of the roadway. Where was It? Where WAS It? Precious could not be found!  
  
"Lost!" Frodo wailed into the cold air. "Lost it is! That filthy Gollum has pinched it! I cannot let It fall into his hands again!"  
  
Frodo grabbed the knife and attempted to stand and follow Ted down the pathway. But there was something wrong with his left leg. Frodo stood and started down the barren trail, only to collapse in a heap as his leg gave way. He sat in the icy mud crying in despair, lost in faint wisps of memories, trying to piece together what was happening. "Lost!" he cried to the cruel wind.  
  
Ted ran as he had never run in his life. After a few minutes of blind panic he slowed down to catch his ragged breath. Blood from the wound to his throat stained his shirt collar. He turned wildly to look back up the trail. No one was following him. But he had to get out! He had to find a safe place! Now! Whom could he turn to?  
  
"Dibble!" Ted almost cried with relief. "Dibble will hide me. Dibble will help!" Ted ran and ran.  
  
After a few minutes Frodo attempted to stand again, this time using his discarded walking stick as a crutch. He finally managed to stand upright and remain on his feet, but his leg hurt terribly. And his left arm was burning in pain. What was going on? His mind was as grey and foggy as the sky. He looked down and saw blood oozing from a deep wound in his thigh. How did that happen? Blood also dripped down the fingers of his hand from a slash on his left arm.  
  
Frodo suddenly realized he was holding a knife. Did he have an accident? Did he fall in the road and hurt himself with the knife? But if so, why was he cut in two places? But he didn't recognize the knife. It was not Sting. It wasn't his. Whose knife was this? He was supposed to be somewhere right now. Where? Why was he standing in an icy crossroad covered in mud?  
  
'Iris's place. That's where I'm supposed to be right now.' The thought popped unannounced into his skull. Frodo tried to shake the cobwebs from his muddled brain, but it was no use. His mind felt like it was made of light and fluffy cotton balls. 'Guess I better get going then,' he rationalized. The sudden pain in his left leg brought him back to reality. Clenching his teeth, he cut a strip off his cloak and bound his leg in a make-shift pressure bandage. Stars! He was wet and chilled and covered in mud. His teeth started chattering in the bitter cold.  
  
Should he turn back and go to Bag End? No. That was uphill, and he was already more than half way to Hobbiton. Frodo grimaced and began limping on. After a few minutes he reached the outskirts of Bywater near the crossroads from Overhill. Theo Tuggle was driving his pony cart back to Hobbiton from a visit to his girlfriend when he saw Frodo collapse in a heap at the crossroads. Theo helped Frodo into his cart, covered him with a blanket, and transported him to the doctor's offices in Hobbiton. 


	14. Raven Hair

Chapter 14: Raven Hair  
Chapter Rating: R (medical situations, language, violence)  
  
"Sweet Elbereth! What happened?" Opal gasped as Theo and Frodo struggled to fit through the front door of the physician's offices. Theo supported Frodo with his left shoulder as the wounded hobbit limped over the threshold. Opal rushed over and removed Frodo's soiled and torn cloak. A mother and her sniffling young son quickly exited the building.  
  
Iris appeared from the examination room. She assessed the situation, turned around and went back inside the room, then helped another patient cross the hallway into the patient's recovery bedroom. "Sorry Mister Littleton. Please come back tomorrow and I'll take care of that bunion then. We have an emergency right now I must attend to."  
  
"All right. Bring him in," she briskly instructed.  
  
Frodo managed to hobble into the examination room by leaning heavily on Theo, then collapsed onto the table. Opal managed to remove his coat by the time he lay down. A knife clattered onto the stone floor, falling out of an interior coat pocket. Theo picked it up and examined it carefully while Iris and Opal tended to Frodo.  
  
"Gee, this must be what caused them wounds." Theo handed to bloody knife to Opal. "I've seen that knife before. In fact, I think I made that knife. Yep! See right here. Got my mark on the hilt. It ain't Mister Baggins's. It belongs to that miller feller from Bywater. Ted Sandyman."  
  
"Mister Tuggle," Iris addressed the blacksmith without looking up from her task of removing Frodo's soiled shirt and breeches. "Would you be ever so helpful and run and get Shirriff Bolger? I do believe we will need his services."  
  
"Yes, mam," Theo left and was soon out the door.  
  
"Opal? Hand me those scissors, please. I'm sorry Frodo, but I'm going to have to cut your clothes off," Iris apologized as she started to snip through the bloody left sleeve. Her scissors stopped about halfway up his bicep. "Opal? Help me out here. He's wearing something under his shirt."  
  
Opal stood to one side and Iris to the other. The two tried to raise the shivering hobbit into a sitting position. Iris could hear a soft clinking sound coming from under his muddy clothes.  
  
"Frodo? Sit up a bit for me, dear. Let's get these clothes off you." Frodo closed his eyes and groaned, but managed to sit up for Iris. His normally fair skin was white as the hoarfrost, and his skin was just as cold. His breath was ragged and raw, coming in harsh gasps.  
  
"Iris," he moaned, "I think ... I'm ... going to be sick ..."  
  
"Grab something!" Iris called out as she helped Frodo lean over the examination table, but it was too late. He threw up onto the stone floor before Opal had a chance to grab the metal bucket kept nearby for such a purpose. Her quick footedness enabled her to jump out of the way of most of the vomit, but her lower extremities were splashed in Frodo's sickness, never the less.  
  
"Uh! I hate it when this happens," Opal grabbed a nearby towel and threw it over the mess on the floor. "Poor thing." She wiped her own legs down then ministered to Frodo.  
  
Frodo groaned and closed his eyes.  
  
"No, no, dear," Iris spoke directly to him. "Stay awake Frodo. Come on. Talk to me." She adjusted her scissors and ripped through the shirt. "Well, what in the Shire are you wearing?" The chain mail glimmered silky silver in the candlelight; its inlay gemstones casting rainbows across the room. "Oh, it's beautiful, Frodo. What is it? Wake up. What is it, Frodo? Talk to me."  
  
"Mithril," he groggily replied. "My mithril coat. Sss...Sam's idea ... Damn him. He was right."  
  
"It's lovely, but we have to get it off you now," Iris said. She steadied him as Opal pulled the mithril coat and its underlying soft brown leather jerkin over Frodo's head. He was wearing a pinkish-white jewel on a thin silver chain around his neck under the jerkin. Opal asked if she should remove it as well.  
  
"No, he can continue to wear that," Iris said as she helped Frodo lay back down on the examination table. "I'm going to need blankets and plenty of hot water," Iris instructed. She turned her attention back to Frodo. "Open your eyes, love. Come on. Stay awake. Do you know where you are?"  
  
His eyes rolled about in their sockets as he attempted to remain aware and answer the questions. "In the Dead Marshes?" It was the best he could manage. Everything was misty, cold and wet. He must be in the Dead Marshes.  
  
Opal rushed to the wardrobe and brought out a fresh woolen blanket for the shivering hobbit. She left the room to start additional water on to boil back in the kitchen, and returned to find Iris with the scissors again. This time it was Frodo's finely tailored breeches which were unceremoniously cut away from his body. He clutched the blanket around his shivering torso.  
  
"Frodo, stay with me," Iris again admonished. "Who attacked you? Come on. Talk to me. Who attacked you? Do you remember?"  
  
"Nooo... "came the faint reply. "I'm so cold..."  
  
"I know. We're talking care of that right now," Iris finished removing the last of the pant leg and added it to the growing pile of soiled, ripped, wet and muddy clothing.  
  
"He's back in here," Theo's voice could be heard. Iris was beginning to cut through the make-shift bandage around the thigh when Fredigar Bolger and Theo Tuggle walked into the room. Frodo's upper body and torso were draped with the blanket, but his wounded left leg was in plain view. It was not a pretty sight.  
  
Blood from the wound freely dripped off the examination table and onto the floor, mixing with the vomit and mud tracked in. Freddy caught sight of his friend's horrible stab wound just as Iris cut through the bandage and fresh blood started oozing out from between clots on the surface of the dark gash. Opal held Frodo down as Iris inserted her index finger into the raw wound, trying to assess how deeply the knife had penetrated. Frodo clinched the sides of the bed, arched his back, and screamed.  
  
"Frodo? Oh, my..." Freddy whispered as his eyes rolled up into his head. Opal saw what was happening just in time.  
  
"Theo! Grab Freddy!" she shouted.  
  
Freddy fainted into Theo's surprised arms. Theo looked down in consternation at Freddy. "What use is a Shirriff who faints at the sight of blood?" he snorted in faint displeasure.  
  
"Get him out of my surgery," Iris growled. The muscular blacksmith picked up the unconscious Shirriff and left the room. Frodo again groaned. "Steady on there, Frodo," Iris crooned. "I'm sorry, but I have to do this." Opal handed a towel to the doctor and brought the basin of hot water over to the small table next to the bed. "Go hold him again while I treat this," Iris instructed. "Talk to him and keep him awake."  
  
"What do I say?" Opal asked. This was her first time with a seriously wounded patient who was going into shock.  
  
"Call him by his first name," Iris prompted, all the whole working on cleaning and stitching the wound and preparing healing herbs. "Ask him questions which make him think."  
  
"Uh, Mister Baggins? Uh, I mean, Frodo," Opal rolled her eyes in frustration at her own nervousness, "can you remember what happened?"  
  
"That's the way," Iris encouraged without looking up.  
  
"Ummm..." was all Frodo could manage through the red mists. His mouth tasted horrible. Must be from the ashes of the fires of burning Mount Doom. Or maybe it was the stink of the vapors from the Marshes? "I'm tired..."  
  
"I know, Frodo," Opal held his right hand and patted him on the top of his head. "But you have to stay awake. Do you know who I am? Open your eyes and take a look."  
  
Frodo managed to open his eyes into slits and tried to focus on the quiet feminine voice through the haze of pain in his thigh. The voice was warm; soothing. "Mother?" It was his best guess. "What are you doing in the Marshes? Oh, you're drowned. That makes sense." He closed his eyes and sighed.  
  
"Opal, pinch him or slap his cheeks. Do whatever it takes to keep him awake," Iris instructed without looking up from her work. "Keep talking to him and making him answer questions." Opal did as instructed, keeping the wounded hobbit within the bounds of consciousness.  
  
Blood continued to trickle from the wound even after it was cleaned and stitched But the blood loss was not excessive. Iris knew it would soon stop after she applied the bandages. The wound was deep, but fortunately for Frodo, the knife had missed cutting into a major blood vessel or a tendon. Iris cleaned off the rest of Frodo's leg and foot, then applied a poultice of ground tansy to the wound before binding it with fresh bandages. The same treatment was done for the slashes on his arm.  
  
Frodo's condition improved dramatically. The combination of the warm blankets, the removal of his cold wet clothes, the staunching of his thigh and arm wounds, and even the emptying of the contents of his stomach all helped. His breathing became steady and some warmth returned to his pale skin. But he remained confused as to where he was and how he had gotten into such a mess.  
  
Opal busied herself with cleaning up the soiled linens and clothes on the floor, then mopping the stones. Iris continued to tend Frodo by removing the rest of the mud and warming up his body with the warm blankets. They took turns talking to Frodo, not allowing him to drift off into slumber just yet. It was a struggle, but he managed to hang onto consciousness and attempted to answer the never-ceasing questions. Opal was confused at his answers though. He kept mentioning the Dead Marshes and referring to her as his mother. But she had heard enough strange things coming out of other patient's mouths to realize they were only random thoughts bubbling to the surface, and not to be taken seriously. But Iris listened intently. It was another glimpse inside Frodo's tangled mind.  
  
"Uh, Doctor?" Theo knocked on the doorposts and looked in. "Mister Bolger is awake now. He wants to know if he can talk with Mister Baggins yet?"  
  
"I could use his and your help right now, if you please," Iris smiled as she finished removing the last of the dirty towels. A very sheepish Fredigar Bolger shuffled into the room, followed by the patient blacksmith. "Mister Baggins needs to be moved into the bed in the patient's recovery room. Would you two help him, please?"  
  
Freddy lifted Frodo into a sitting position on the bed. Iris grabbed an extra robe from the wardrobe and covered Frodo with it as Freddy and Theo helped the semi-conscious hobbit swing his legs off the examination table and stand. Theo supported most of Frodo's weight as they moved him into the room across the hallway. Opal started stripping the bloody sheets from the surgery table while Freddy and Theo helped Frodo into the guest bed. Iris sat on a low stool beside the fire, mixing a rather thick and foul- smelling tea.  
  
"Fatty?" Frodo looked blearily at his friend. "Wha? What are you doing here? I thought we left you at c.. c...Crickethollow."  
  
Theo looked at Fredigar in surprise. "Fatty?" Freddy merely shrugged as they settled Frodo into the bed sheets and added another blanket atop his shivering frame.  
  
"Where do you think you are, Frodo?" Freddy asked.  
  
"Theo?" Iris interrupted, "would you retrieve that knife from the examination room, please? I'm sure the Shirriff will want to see it." She moved over to sit beside Frodo, a cup full of the dark strong medical tea held in her hand.  
  
"Oh, right!" Theo disappeared and quickly returned with the weapon. Theo handed it to Freddy, who examined it. "Tis Ted Sandyman's. He purchased it from me a few months ago. I've seen it on him many times." Freddy nodded his head in agreement.  
  
"Sit up for me, Frodo," she said, helping him up. "Drink it all down."  
  
"Don't want it..." he weakly protested, trying unsuccessfully to push the cup away from his lips.  
  
"I know, I know," she crooned, "it smells bad. But you must drink it. That's it. Only a little more. It will make you feel better and help you think. Good, good. You can lay down now."  
  
Frodo sighed and settled back into the warmth of the blankets. All he wanted to do was go to sleep. Why couldn't they leave him alone?  
  
Freddy suddenly became quite serious and professional. He had to find the attacker and apprehend them before they caused more mischief in the Shire. This was terribly serious. He realized he was going to have to contact the other Shirriffs. "Frodo? I need to know who attacked you."  
  
"Gollum," Frodo whispered.  
  
"Gollum?" Freddy was confused. "Can't be Gollum, Frodo. You said he died in Mordor. Come on, Frodo. Think hard. This is important. Who attacked you?"  
  
"Gollum's dead?" Frodo whispered back. "Oh, yes. He's dead. Did I kill him?" Frodo opened his eyes, blinked, and looked around the room. "What am I doing here?"  
  
"You've been injured, dear," Iris crooned and stroked his hair. A tear escaped and ran down her face. She sternly wiped it away. "You're safe now. You are at my place. Here, let's take a different approach. Frodo? Where were you when you were attacked?"  
  
Frodo blinked again and turned to look at her. "In the Emyn Muil. Sam and I are lost. No... no, wait. I was ... I was... On my way here. I was on the road from Bag End. Muddy... A... um, a crossroad? With a little trail leading off it. Some bushes... Oh. The back way to Bywater."  
  
His eyes focused as he suddenly remembered. "Ted Sandyman! It was Ted. Grabbed me from behind. Said something about going on a walk to meet some Big Folk."  
  
"Damn that son-of-an-orc," Freddy growled. "I'll be back, Frodo. Doctor. I've got to find Ted Sandyman and get to the bottom of this. Theo? You with me?"  
  
Theo nodded silently, the muscles in his jaw flexing in anger. "Lemme get me sword first, Shirriff."  
  
"Mister Tuggle?" Iris looked up from staring at the little flowery teacup in her hands. "Would you do me one last favor, please? Get one of the Waddle children to run to Bag End. Mister Gamgee will need to bring Mister Baggins a change of clothes. Here's a copper to give to the runner, if you don't mind." She reached into a pocket of her skirt and pulled out a penny.  
  
Theo closed her hand around the coin. "Don't you worry, Miss Proudfoot. Mister Bolger and me will take care of things. You just look after your love." A grim Fredigar Bolger and an even more grim Theo Tuggle headed out into the weak winter afternoon mists.  
  
Frodo's eyes were closed and he was finally asleep, snoring gently. It was too much for Iris. Now that the crisis was over the tears came streaming down. She set down the little teacup and penny and wept heaving sobs into her hands. Opal silently came into the room and brought Iris to her feet, embracing the weeping physician and letting her cry onto her shoulder.  
  
"Oh, Opal," Iris sobbed, "he's been through so much already. Why this? Why now? Can't they just leave him alone? Why can't they leave us alone?"  
  
Opal let her cry. There was nothing she could say. ---------------  
  
"No! Get off me land you rotten schemer, you!"  
  
Dibble threatened his former friend with an axe. He had been out chopping wood when Ted almost literally ran into him in a blind panic. Ted's dark hair was plastered to his head despite the cold.  
  
"But... but Dibble! I'm in real trouble this time!" Ted almost screamed. "You're my only friend! You've got ta hide me!"  
  
"No I don't! You ain't no friend o' mine and you never were," Dibble growled. "All you did was use me and I won't have no more of it. Lousy pile of pig shit, that's what you are! Pig shit what walks and talks. Now get outta here afore I call the Shirriffs on ya!" He turned to go back into the house.  
  
"But where will I go?" Ted sobbed. "There ain't no one in the Shire what'll take me in!"  
  
"Well, that's yer fault, ain't it?" Dibble abruptly turned and snapped at Ted. "Go live wid yer cousins in Bree if the Shire won't have ya. Or go wid them Big Folk free warriors of yours what's waitin' fer ye. I don't care where ya go, as long as it's NOT HERE!" Dibble stepped towards Ted, brandishing the axe. "Teddy-boy, if yer not off me land in the next few seconds, I'll start choppin' off yer remaining fingers one at a time. Now GIT!"  
  
Ted's eyes narrowed to mean slits. "All right! You're no friend o' mine and never were! Keep yer lousy house and lousy job at the mill. I'm better than that! I will go to see about joinin' up wid them free warriors. You'll see. I'll sell the mill and live the life out in Bree!"  
  
Ted fled down the path and into the woods, cutting cross country to reach the appointed meeting place before nightfall. He stole a hatchet left out on a woodpile at some stranger's farm along the way. He felt more confident now that he was armed again. --------------------  
  
"No. I don't know where he's gone," Dibble said to Fredigar and Theo as they continued to question him. "He did come here. Couple of hours ago. But he's a low-down stinker and I ain't never gonna let him sweet talk me into nothin' no more. So I told him to get off me land."  
  
"Dibble, why did he stab Mister Baggins?" Theo asked.  
  
"That stupid pile of shit wanted ta collect the money them Men from Bree is offerin' fer Mister Baggins's head on a pike," Dibble spat. "I told him not ta do it. I did! But he wouldn't listen ta me. No. He wouldn't listen ta ole stupid Dibble. Now look what he's done. Stupid pile of shit!"  
  
"Did he say anything about meeting anyone?" Freddy asked.  
  
"Well, he was supposed to be meetin' up with some Big Folk from Bree or somethin', but I don't know where and I don't want ta know." Dibble grumbled. "I told him it was a stupid idea. I told him it weren't right no how. He thinks like an orc, he does. Maybe he's on his way to Bree. Maybe he's meetin' up with them free warriors in the Old Forest. I dunno. Now I've done told you all I know. Please leave me alone."  
  
Freddy and Theo returned to Hobbiton. The Shirriff sent out QuickPosts throughout the countryside, describing the assault and offering a reward for the return of Ted Sandyman. Runners were also sent to Brandy Hall and on to Bree. But weeks went by and no one ever came forward for the reward. ---------------------------  
  
"I'm tellin' ya he was armed and even had an armed escort," Ted lied. "I'm lucky to be standing here alive!" That was the truth.  
  
The three fierce Men from the Easterling army shook him again, this time harder. "You promised us the Ringbearer," the leader growled. "We've already told our superiors that we would be bringing in his head and hand. Now where is he?"  
  
"He's still in the Shire!" Ted screamed. "Can't you get that through your fat thick head? I couldn't get to him. But maybe if you help me, the four of us can go get him."  
  
One of the warriors started talking in a foreign language. Ted couldn't understand it, but they seemed to be discussing his plan. Maybe he could get away with it!  
  
:Sarge, why do we have to listen to this little squeaker? Look, we promised the captain that we would produce the head and hand of the Ringbearer, the Nine Fingered halfling. It'll be our heads on pikes instead of this Frodo Baggins's if we don't produce one fitting the Ringbearer's description. We don't have any time to go into this stupid rat's homeland and do his work for him. Captain is expectin' us tomorrow.:  
  
All three suddenly turned and looked at Ted. There he stood, right before them. A male hobbit of about age 50. Pale skin. Somewhat dark brown hair. And one of his hands had evidently been injured in an accident within the past year.  
  
:Hmm... Think we could dye the hair?:  
  
Ted never had a chance. The easiest part was cutting off the ring finger of his left hand, as there didn't seem to be much more than skin and mangled flesh holding it together. The free warriors smiled. They had their Ringbearer. 


	15. Sam's Turn

Chapter 15: Sam's Turn  
Chapter Rating: G

The next morning

Frodo awoke in the dark. No, not total dark. There was light coming from somewhere. He blinked and located the source of the light. A small fire was burning in the fireplace. He cleared his sore throat.

"Can you hear me yet, Mister Frodo?" a quiet male voice came from somewhere beside his bed. The voice was comfortingly familiar. With a turn of his head he could see Sam sitting in a little wooden chair beside a small table.

"Hello Samb," Frodo croaked out. He sniffed and cleared his tight throat again. "What time bis it?"

"Oh, a bit before five bells," Sam said. He yawned. "Want some water?"

"Yes, please," Frodo sniffled. "My mouth tastes like an orc army spent da night camped out in it." Frodo pulled his arms out from under the covers and noticed a bandage on his left arm. It didn't hurt though. But he was naked under the sheets. What happened to his clothes? Frodo attempted to sit up in bed, and was rewarded with a dull pain in his left thigh. And he had a massive headache and his right buttocks cheek hurt. What had happened?

Sam helped him sit upright, then handed him a mug of water. The cool liquid felt wonderful sliding down his raw throat. Frodo quickly gave the mug back to Sam just as a massive sneeze escaped his nose. Sam nonchalantly handed him his pocket handkerchief. "Keep it."

"Thanks, Samb," Frodo blew his nose. "My head feels like it is going to explode. I think I have a cold."

"I wouldn't doubt it," came the cool reply. "You were outside in those wet clothes for quite some time before landing here."

Frodo looked around the room. He was in the patient's bedroom at Iris's place. "Where's Iris?"

"She's asleep back in her bedroom." Sam handed him the mug again. "Drink up. I'll make you some tea. Do ya want something for your headache, or something to eat?"

"Yes, danks," Frodo managed a weak smile. Sam did not smile back. 'I am in SO much trouble,' Frodo thought.

Sam exited the room to get the kettle boiling in the kitchen for tea. Frodo gingerly swung his legs off the bed and grabbed a dark green robe left hanging off the bedpost. He struggled into the robe, minor aches and pains blossoming as he stretched and moved. Standing wasn't as difficult as he imagined. However, bending over to retrieve the chamber pot from under the bed was not fun. Necessary, but not fun. Frodo was grateful he was at least mobile enough to take care of business without requiring Sam's assistance. He was in enough trouble with his smial-mate as it was.

Frodo shed the guest robe and climbed back into bed, careful to not disturb the bandage on his thigh. He noticed a little purple bruise on his stomach. 'Oh, right. That is where Ted hit me.' The memories of the attack were all there. Well, at least most of them. He had only vague memories of what he did after Ted stabbed him in the leg and before taking off limping towards Hobbiton. But at least he could remember the fight. Buttocks bruised? Ah – slipping in the ice and falling down. He didn't remember much after lying down on the examination table at Iris's offices, but he was glad he didn't remember that part of the evening.

The door opened just as he was pulling the soft flannel covers up around his naked chest. Sam entered, carrying an earthenware tea service with three mugs. Frodo noted that Sam was armed with a short sword at his side. Another huge sneeze escaped just as Sam placed the tea service on the small wooden table next to the bed.

"Serves ya right," Sam mumbled.

"Whad?" Frodo said, "me getting a cold or getting stabbed?"

"Don't be trying to get smart with me," Sam grumbled as he poured the steaming tea. "It's you going off and not protecting yourself when you know you should." Sam handed a mug to Frodo, and poured himself one. He adjusted the sword so that he could sit down.

"You should have listened to me and Merry," Sam said, blowing on the fresh tea and taking a long sip. "You shouldn't go off by yourself without an escort. And you should carry a weapon. We've told you this time and time again and you still don't listen. You're getting lax in your old age and comfort."

Frodo grimaced. "I listen. I wore the midril coad." He sneezed. "And I had my walking stick. I did all right." He took a sip of the hot liquid, grateful for its steam and wetness on his raw throat.

"You do not listen. You near got yourself killed," Sam calmly said. "You think you can play with fire and not get burned. Well I've got news for you, Mister Baggins. That's not the way the world works. You got lucky this time. There's a whole bunch o' bad folk out after your head. Ted Sandyman's still missing. You need to take precautions like Merry and me said." Sam put down his mug and offered the goodie tray to Frodo. "Want a biscuit?"

Frodo sighed. "No danks. Did you bring me some clodes?"

"Clodes?" Sam sipped his tea and nibbled on some day-old scones he found in the larder.

"Clodes," Frodo repeated. "Someding to wear." He blew his nose, handed Sam his empty mug, and shifted in bed a little. His backside really hurt now that he was awake. "And where is dat tea for my headache?"

"Yes, I brought you some fresh clothes. And I brought your pony so I won't have to lug you all the way uphill to Bag End. But don't be changing the subject," Sam looked at him sideways. "I'm not giving you your clothes until you and I have a little talk." He handed Frodo the extra mug of tea.

Frodo drank it down in one gulp. It was a familiar bitter tea. "Samb? Could I hab another cup of tea, please?"

Sam poured a second mug of regular mint tea, handed it to Frodo, and then continued his lecture. "Look here, Mister Frodo. You can't keep thinking you can go back to livin' the way you did before the Quest. The world ain't the same. You're an important person in Middle Earth, whether you want to admit it or not. We have to protect you, but it sure ain't easy with the way you behave."

Frodo rubbed his aching forehead. "Samb. You sound like Bilbo lecturing me that time I broke my arm. Of all the people in Middle Eard, I am probably the one who most knows dat the world has changed." He looked at his friend. "You hab no idea how difficult it has been for me to return to the Shire and try to rebuild my life here. Look, I do not want to be known here as the Ringbearer. I want to be known simply as Frodo Baggins of Bag End. I do not want to be treated any differently dan anybody else." He handed Sam the empty headache mug. "And you, my best friend in the world, you hab made my task incredibly difficult."

Sam crossed his arms in indignation. "What are you talking about?"

"Samb, there are worse things dan people trying to attack me," Frodo blew his nose again and took another sip of the tea. "There is one thing I am horribly afraid of." Frodo looked into his mug in embarrassment. "Samb, I have a wolf in my own head. It is me dat I am afraid of. Me. I am more of a threat to those I love than any outside force. I am afraid I am one day going to loose control of myself and hurt you or Rose. And dat would kill me more surely than any assassin's blade."

"Well I'm not sayin' ignore that either," Sam placed his callused brown hand on Frodo's bandaged arm. "You are doing better now that you're seeing Miss Iris again. But Mister Frodo, you have to take into consideration specific threats now. Now's not the time to be ridin' off around Middle Earth as if nothing's wrong. You're practically daring anybody with a weapon and a motive to take a stab at you."

Frodo looked away into the dying fire. "I will dot hide myself away like a coward. I will continue to live my life as I think best, Samb. But YOU are not listening to me. There is a reason why I will dot carry a weapon. I am afraid I will have another ... um ... episode ... and hurt someone. I had one yesterday during the attack and I came very close to killing Sandyman with his own knife. What would have happened if I had a familiar weapon like Sting on me? Frankly, I am quite apprehensive about continuing to live at Bag End with you and Rose. I have this ... this ... thing inside me and it comes out unexpectedly. I do not want to continue to put you in danger."

"I can take care of all of us. I told you before that I would not leave you, and I'll say it again," Sam sat back into the chair.

"You cannot possibly do that, Samb. You cannot be protecting me for the rest of your life," Frodo turned to look at Sam, his keen blue eyes piercing into Sam's soul. "You have responsibilities to your family, and they come first. You and Merry said others could get to me through Iris. I am telling you they could get to me through you. Or Rose. Who is with her right now? Your Gaffer? What sort of protection is that? Samb, you need to be with your family and I need to take care of myself." He blew his nose again and took another long sip of tea.

"Mister Frodo, you are a natural-born politician if ever I heard one," Sam chuckled. "You could talk me Gaffer out of his prized roses if you set your mind and mouth to it." Sam's face turned serious again. "But you can't talk me out of this one. I'm right, not you, and you know it.

"You need to take care of yourself," Sam continued, "and that includes arming yourself when you go out. You would never harm your family, and that includes Rose and me. You carried Sting before, and I know you don't like it, but you've got to start carrying it around with you again. If not for your sake, then for Miss Iris's sake and my sake. And if you would stay put in Bag End till this reward thing blows over and not go gallivanting off all the time, I could look after both you and Rose."

"I will dot be kept a prisoner in Bag End," Frodo frowned. "Not even by you. In fact, I do dot think I can stay in Bag End at all."

"Now what do you mean by that?" Sam leaned forward in the chair.

"Yes, Frodo," a soft, feminine voice called out from the doorway. "What do you mean by that?" Iris was in her long grey robe, hair loose and hanging down to mid-back. She stood in the dark, leaning against the doorpost, arms crossed.

"Iris, dis is between Samb and me," he said, then sneezed.

"Hardly," came the reply from the dark. "If you have made up your mind don't you think I should know? Or have you thought of someplace else?"

"What are you two talking about?" Sam asked.

Iris walked into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. "He is partially right, Sam. He cannot continue to live at Bag End and be a threat to you and Rose."

"What sort of conspiracy is this?" Sam's voice was becoming edgy with anger.

"No conspiracy," Iris said. "Frodo and I have been discussing where in Middle Earth he can find some peace and quiet and live out a relatively normal life."

"Bag End, of course," Sam said. "It's his smial. It's been in the Baggins family for generations! You can't leave Bag End, Mister Frodo. If it's quiet you want, me and Rose will move in with me Gaffer at Number 3."

"No, no," Frodo protested, "that's not it, Samb. I would never even hear of such a thing. Bag End is a large smial. It is perfect for you and Rose and your family. I would not have it any other way." He took Iris's hand in his. "But I cannot stay there the way I am now and put your family at risk. I need to live someplace quiet and away from the public eye. Somewhere I can be somewhat isolated to write my books in solitude, yet be near enough to civilization so that I do not become a recluse."

"That's Bag End," Sam said, crossing his arms. "I won't have you moving out because of me and Rose. Bag End is perfect for you, and that's that!"

"What about moving in here with me?" Iris asked.

Frodo shook his head. "That would hardly enhance your reputation, my lady, even if we are engaged. Besides, Hobbiton is too busy. Too noisy. I never was one for village living. And now my nerves will not take too much excitement. I need to be in the countryside somewhere. Maybe we should leave the Shire entirely."

Sam had been very quiet during their exchange. He suddenly tilted his head and looked at Frodo. "The solution's right in front of our faces. If it were any closer it would have bit us on the nose."

"What?" Iris asked.

"Me Gaffer's place," Sam smiled. "New Bag Shot Row #3 is right around the hill from Bag End. It's a fair walk if you take the road. But if you look at it from a bird's eye view, the back sections of both smials fair near meet at the center of the hill. We could make a new tunnel and connect the two. That way Rose and me can take care of me Gaffer without him moving inta Bag End and disturbing Mister Frodo."

Sam placed his hand on Frodo's knee. "You can keep your rooms and study just the way you please, Mister Frodo. And if you have another of them rough spells, why, we could move you into the guest room at Number 3 through the tunnel. No busy bodies to see or know. No gossips. Nice and secluded and private as you please."

"Are you sure you could successfully join Number 3 with Bag End?" Iris asked.

"Sure!" Sam said. "It's the next hole over. Back behind the hill, facing East away from Hobbiton and the Water. It's real quiet too. And we could build a door between the two to keep it locked, if you think you'll need it. The other two smials on the road are at least a five minute walk away towards Overhill."

"Enlarge Bag End?" Frodo tentatively asked. "Won't the Gaffer object?"

"No! He'll be happy he don't have to get out in the cold and wet no more." Sam was enthusiastic. "You and Miss Iris can jump the broom and move into Bag End all proper-like. You'll be in the same smial with me and Rose. We can look after each other and get together when ya want. Our kids can play with each other. You can keep your practice here, Doc, and walk between the two. It's no more than thirty minutes from there to here. That way you can separate your business from your personal life. The front living room of Number 3 could be your study if you don't want to keep it in Bag End, Mister Frodo. It gets great sunlight in the morning."

Frodo looked at Iris. Iris gave him a hopeful smile. "It's closer than Gondor," she whispered.

Frodo smiled and shook his head. "Samb, you are a most ingenious hobbit. If I wasn't naked under these sheets, I would stand up and bow to your excellent common sense."

Sam laughed. "Guess I'll let you have them clothes after all."


	16. The Journey Begins

Chapter 16: The Journey Begins  
Chapter Rating: PG

February 6th

The journey to Rivendell started off well enough. Frodo and Iris planned on visiting Merry and Pippin at Crickethollow before continuing on to Bree. The only problem was the one Frodo had feared all along – Samwise. Sam insisted on being their armed escort through the Shire, and Freddy volunteered to accompany the three. It was only right, seeing as how he was the Hobbiton Shirriff and they were technically under his protection. But the trip wasn't exactly a joyful one.

Sam was in a terrible mood. He was irritated that he could go no further than Crickethollow. Rose was seven months pregnant and was essentially house-bound in the freezing weather. Sam's father was looking after his daughter-in-law, and Rose's mother and Mistress Marigold Hornblower, the Hobbiton midwife, visited often. But Sam was nervous about leaving Rose for any extended period of time. He had threatened to tie Frodo up and lock him away at Bag End until after the baby was born. Frodo had counter-threatened with leaving the Shire for good and moving to Gondor, but a compromise was reached. Frodo agreed to wear the mithril coat and carry a weapon on his person at all times, and to have an armed escort the entire journey. Sam made him promise to return to the Shire if anything out of the ordinary happened at any stage of the trip. Sam was still unsatisfied, but it would have to do.

And now the journey had begun. Frodo and Iris rode on Strider and Bill. The sturdy ponies also carried all the extra food, gear and winter clothing required for the trip. Sam and Freddy walked in front, intent on providing a guard for Frodo. They both wore swords and Freddy carried his bow and arrows at the ready. Sam had even donned his Gondorian leather under his traveling cloak. He was taking no chances. The little company left well before dawn. It began lightly snowing early in the morning, and continued throughout the day.

"This has got to be the stupidest thing I've ever known him do," Sam grumbled to Fredigar as they trudged side-by-side through the dusting of snow. "Taking off in weather like this. Him still not fully recovered from the last attempt on his life. Traveling outside the Shire when there's a reward for him being brought in dead or alive. Taking his fiancé with 'em. Puttin' us all in danger. Ted Sandyman still on the loose. Stupid, I says." Sam raised his voice and turned his head. "This is stupid, Mister Frodo."

"Thank you, Master Gamgee," Frodo calmly replied. "We have heard it all before. I did let you talk me into wearing Sting again. And you insisted on including yourself and Freddy on this little outing. You cannot blame me for your own misery. You volunteered." Frodo shifted slightly in the saddle. His left thigh still bothered him when he was out in the cold, and his old shoulder wound ached again, but there was nothing to be done about it. Iris warned him the thigh wound might bother him for the next year or so, but that too was unimportant. Making it safely to Rivendell before March 10th – that was important.

"Yeah. Thanks a lot, Master Baggins, sir. That really eases my mind, your high and mighty lordship, sir." Sam grumbled.

"Sam, sarcasm does not become you," Frodo said. Strider snorted and shook the snow out of his mane.

"I know. I'm sorry," Sam said, then turned around and started walking backwards. "No. I'm not sorry. I still think this is a bad idea. Why don't we turn around and go back right now?" At the deafening silence, he resumed his forward-facing stride. "We could be sittin' in front of the nice, warm fire in Bag End, sunk into nice thick blankets, sipping nice hot buttered totties, eattin' nice warm muffins and kissin' our nice, warm, round lasses. But no... Instead we're slogging out here in the wild, through the ice and slush, watchin' out for assassins and thieves, movin' from one set of troubles to the next. Not right in the head, that's what you are, Frodo Baggins. Me Gaffer used to tell me the Bagginses were slightly teched and I used to shush him about that. But I'm beginning to think he was right all along. This is all wrong, Frodo."

"I would hardly call the East Farthing being out in the wild," Iris said. She sat atop Sam's pony, comfortably bundled up in a new fur-lined cloak. She and Bill had become fast friends during their trip to Micheldelving the previous month.

"Sam, why don't you try shuttin' up for a moment or two so we can be listening for things?" Freddy spoke up. "What with you jabberin' on all the time, we might as well hang a big red sign about our necks and yell to the world 'Here we are!' Now, do shut up, will you?"

Iris snickered behind her gloved hand.

"And you!" Sam turned around and wagged an accusing finger at Iris. "You're just as bad as him! You should have backed me up on this, you know! You know nothing about surviving in the wild. Tetched in the head, both of you." Sam turned back around again. "Now I have two simpletons to look out for, not just one. A couple of village idiots, you two are."

"You are sounding more like your Gaffer every day," Frodo chucked. "So, you consider Iris and I simpletons and idiots, eh Sam? Thank you very much. I shall be sure to let Bilbo know your opinion of us."

"Oh, no, Mister Frodo, Miss Iris..." Sam sputtered. "Frodo, don't you dare! I didn't mean ... I mean ... um ... oh, heck. There I go again puttin' my foot in my mouth."

Freddy punched Sam on the shoulder. "Well why don't you leave it there so we can all have some peace and quiet for a change? Cripes, you're a whiner today. Frodo? How do you manage to live with such a mouth?" Sam punched him back and gave him a dirty look.

Frodo glanced at Iris and winked. "Look, Sam, we are still in the Shire. What could possibly happen?"

Sam whipped around again and frowned. "Don't make jokes now, Mister Frodo. Remember what happened the last time you said that?"

Frodo smiled at the memories. "Well, at least we know where Pippin and Merry are this time around. And we are nowhere near Farmer Maggot or his dogs or mushrooms. Sam, we will be fine. There has been no word about Sandyman for weeks now. Please stop your grumbling."

"Only when you stop acting like a fool," Sam sullenly replied, continuing his march forward through the light snow.

"Mushrooms?" Iris inquired.

"Remind me to tell you that story later," Frodo smiled.

Despite Sam's irritation, the day was quite pleasant. It wore on into a long but quiet day of riding and walking though the gently-falling snowflakes. They stopped for late afternoon tea at one of the many inns along the way, taking a little time to warm up before continuing their journey through the East Farthing. Along the way they met up with the occasional hobbit walking or riding in their pony cart down the great East Road. But at each major crossroad they encountered a lone Shirriff standing guard, sword at the hip and official feather in the cap. After Sandyman's attack the Shirriffs had been put on full-time duty, guarding the roads and borders of the Shire. They saluted Freddy as the little traveling party passed each Shirriff, and bowed or tipped their hats slightly as Frodo passed. This embarrassed Frodo to no end, but it pleased Sam. Iris kept her thoughts to herself.

The afternoon deepened into an early twilight and snowfall gradually ceased. The dusting skittered along the frozen roadway, lightly tossed about in the thin wind and captured by lonesome piles of well-seasoned leaves. They crossed the Brandywine Bridge in winter snowlight glow illuminated by a quarter-full moon. Merry was waiting for them as they exited the bridge and stepped into Buckland. He was wearing his Rohan armor covered with his old Elvish traveling cloak, and sat astride his dark bay pony. Another shaggy pony stood tethered to the nearby bridge post, tossing his grey mane and nickering at Bill and Strider.

"Well met and welcome to Buckland," Merry smiled as he saluted and dismounted.

"Hullo, Captain Brandybuck, sir!" Freddy returned the salute with his short sword, then laughed and shook Merry's hand. "Didn't know you would be meeting us here."

"Thought you wouldn't mind riding the rest of the way," Merry gestured to the extra pony. "Rest your feet and we'll get there sooner. Let me give you a hand up."

With Freddy and Sam sharing a pony, the little company soon arrived at Crickethollow. Lanterns were set out on either side of the red round front door, and also back in the barn. Pippin appeared through the cheerful front door to help with the luggage. Everyone dismounted and unloaded their packs, heading into the warmth of the house while Merry took care of the ponies.

"Hello, Frodo, Sam, Freddy, Iris," the tall young hobbit called out. "I've nice, hot totties ready for everyone." Pippin smiled and herded everyone towards the living room fireplace.

"See, Sam?" Freddy merrily called out. "We're not missing anything on this trip, save our lasses, and we will take care of that soon enough." Freddy gratefully accepted the steaming mug and took a gulp of the wonderful liquid.

Frodo hobbled over to the fireplace, carefully placing a large leather pack to one side. He stretched his tired muscles and tried stamping his feet to get the circulation back into his aching legs.

"What's that you've got, Frodo?" Pippin asked as he handed his cousin a mug of mulled wine.

"Thanks, Pippin," Frodo softly blew on the steaming mug of golden wine fortified with cloves and cinnamon sticks. "I am taking a draft of the history of the War of the Ring to show Bilbo. He started it well over five decades ago with his adventure out to the Lonely Mountain, and I have been updating it with our actions over the past two years."

"Oh! So that's what all those interviews were for, eh?" Pippin asked as he passed out other mugs to Iris and Sam. Pippin took a sip from his own mug. "Merry tells me you've been collecting stories from the dwarves too. Can I see?"

"Not tonight, Pip," Merry said as he closed the front door and walked into the warm room. "We can get to that tomorrow. Right now our guests are probably ready for a warm bath and a nice sleep, seeing as it is well past midnight."

"Ah, a warm bath," Sam sighed. "Crickethollow should be rented out as a bathing spa. I have never been to a home which had nicer baths."

"Or more of them," Frodo smiled and turned to Iris. "Natural hot springs supply all the hot water here."

"Miss Proudfoot, would you care to have the first bath?" Merry asked.

"Merry, where's your manners?" Pippin waved his hand at his cousin. "We've a nice little late night dinner all ready to go. Anyone hungry?"

"I would love to have a bath first, if you don't mind," Iris said. Pippin bowed and led her off a side hallway towards the bathing room, carrying her luggage in hand.

The rest of the troupe helped themselves to the wonderful buffet laid out on the kitchen table. Steaming bowls of chicken soup, fresh beer bread, hard cheese and candied pears satisfied the hardiest of appetites. Even Fredigar commented on the quality and quantity of the late repast.

"Thanks, Freddy," Pippin beamed with delight. "I've been brushing up on my cooking skills."

"Any particular reason?" Frodo asked, helping himself to seconds on the soup. Pippin was not known for his culinary talents.

"He's trying to impress a certain young lady who is visiting with my parents over at Brandy Hall," Merry said between mouthfuls. "He's had her over a couple of times for dinner."

"Anyone we know?" Sam asked.

"Diamond Took of the Long Cleeve branch of my family," Pippin said. "She lives up in the far corner of the North Farthing past Dwaling. We're fourth or fifth cousins on my father's side, or something like that." Pippin got a misty look in his eyes. "I'm going to marry her someday."

Merry almost choked on his drink. At that moment Iris reappeared, draping her towel across the back of a chair and helping herself to the dinner.

"I'll go next," Sam said, "but don't you put away my plate or nothin. I'll be back shortly."

"There are two baths already drawn up," Iris said as she attacked the bread and cheese.

"My turn then," Freddy piped up. "Frodo, would you please make sure Captain Took here doesn't pinch my plate either?"

"Yes sir! Will do," Frodo saluted. "Pippin? Exactly how long have you known Miss Diamond?"

"It's been seven days now," the youngest hobbit replied. Merry continued to chuckle under his breath. "I'm serious about marrying her. It's love at first sight, I tell you. I know you've never experienced it, Mer, but I'm very serious about this."

"Pippin – you're not even of age yet," Merry countered. "You're only thirty-two. Aren't you going to play the field a little? You know – date a few lasses from closer to home like Tuckboro or Micheldelving? I mean ... how could you fall in love so completely if you've never tried it out? You know... a test run or two?"

"Sam never dated anyone except Rose, and that's worked out well," Frodo quietly said.

"Sam's old enough to know what he wants," Merry continued. "Young Pip here hasn't even sampled the wares before he's made his choice and is ready to make a down payment."

Pippin stopped eating. "Look, Mer – you can sample all the other girls in the Shire if you so desire. And it seems like you have more than enough desire for two or three hobbits, judging from how often you sample the goods. But leave Diamond off your list. I'm going to marry her someday and I don't want you messing up a good thing I've started."

"But Pippin," Merry protested, "you're far too young."

"Merry, there is not right or wrong age to fall in love," Frodo said. "I waited until I was fifty-two before I found the right lady." He stood behind Iris and kissed her lightly on the top of her damp curls.

She smiled back. "And I'm glad he waited."

Sam and Freddy soon reappeared from their baths and returned to attacking their interrupted dinners. Frodo put away his dishes in the sink. "If Pippin says Diamond is the one for him, then time will tell. I just hope she feels the same way about you, Pippin, as you feel about her in a few years, because you know her father is not going to agree to an early marriage." He departed to take his solitary bath.

Only Iris was privy to the reason why he preferred to bathe alone. Frodo was still ashamed of the numerous scars on his body. He particularly did not want Sam to see the evidence of their hardships during the Quest, and avoided disrobing in front of Sam if at all possible.

After dinner and the baths were complete, everyone went into their assigned sleeping arrangements. Crickethollow had four bedrooms. Iris was assigned the smaller, secondary guest bedroom. Merry and Pippin doubled up in Pippin's room, giving Merry's master bedroom to Freddy. Sam and Frodo shared the primary guest bedroom.

Everyone was tired from the long day's journey and content from the warm baths and hot food and drink. Soon Crickethollow was enveloped in peaceful silence in the chill winter night. Only the mournful chanting of an owl and the soft snores of a young Took disturbed the midnight hush.

The quiet was interrupted a couple of hours later.

"No!" Sam cried out, startling himself awake. He found himself tangled in sweaty bed sheets, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. Another violent nightmare.

"Sam?" a concerned voice called out from the chair next to the fireplace. "Are you all right?" Frodo leaned forward in the chair, wrapped in a colorful quilt.

Sam sighed and tried to control his harsh breathing. "It's nothing. Sorry to wake you, Mister Frodo." He lay back down, pulled the sheets up under his chin and closed his eyes tightly.

Frodo pulled the chair over next to Sam's bed. He placed his left hand on Sam's shoulder and gently began to massage the tight muscles. "You had a nightmare, didn't you?"

A tear escaped the corner of Sam's tightly shut eyes. Sam nodded and swallowed. This was so embarrassing.

"I have them too, Sam," Frodo whispered. "They sometimes wake me up in the middle of the night. Sometimes it takes hours before I can fall back asleep." Frodo continued to massage Sam's shoulders. "I find that talking about them to Iris helps me." Sam sniffled faintly as the silence grew. "Do you want to tell me about your nightmare?"

Sam blinked and stared up at the ceiling. Frodo stopped his massage and quietly waited in the chair.

"It's always the same one," Sam whispered. "Spiders. Nasty. Black. Bloated. Full of poison and death. Sometimes I dream they've killed you and are coming for me. Sometimes they attack Rose or the baby. Sometimes it's me Gaffer or Uncle Andy or Marigold. And I'm always paralyzed with fear. I can't do nothing or move. I watch them stab you over and over again. And you're so pale and... and ... dead..."

Sam turned onto his side away from Frodo and began to weep into his pillow. Frodo moved to the edge of the bed, made Sam sit up, and hugged his sobbing friend to his chest, gently rocking back and forth. Comforting his friend in the dark of the night.

"Shush, Sam," he crooned, "it is only a dream. The spiders can not harm you or me or any of your loved ones any more. I am not dead. I am here. We survived the spider. She no longer has power. You vanquished her long ago."

Sam continued to weep. "But I left you! I left you for dead! And you weren't dead! I didn't keep my promise! I left you!"

"Shush, Sam," Frodo hugged him even more tightly. "You did what was right. You could not have stayed. It is all right. We made it out. We made it together. You were not paralyzed. You overcame your fear and rescued me. That spider has no power over you. The proof is here."

"But Mister Frodo.... I left you," Sam continued to cry. "I took the Ring and I left you. I don't know how you carried that... that THING for so long. Oh, stars, it was awful! I didn't want to. But I had to. Oh, Frodo, I'm so sorry."

Frodo rubbed Sam's back and rocked him back and forth. "Sam, I forgive you. I understand. You had no choice." Frodo pulled away slightly and made Sam look him in the eye. "Sam, I still love you. Nothing will change that. Not even death."

Sam buried his head into Frodo's chest and cried hot tears of shame. Frodo let him sob, tears of understanding and empathy trickling down his own cheeks. After awhile Sam's tears subsided. He pulled away and wiped his face with the back of his hands. Frodo got up and retrieved a towel from the nightstand, handing it to the emotionally distraught hobbit.

"You... you have nightmares too?" Sam managed to hiccup out.

"Often."

"What are yours about?"

Frodo moved back into the chair. "The worse one is when I relive being stabbed at Weathertop. I see the Pale King; feel his icy breath; see the moonlight glinting on his blade; and know with dreadful certainty I will become a wraith like him. Then he... he stabs me and I wake up with my wound aching."

Sam suddenly realized Frodo had not been in bed with him when he awoke from his nightmare. "Is that why you were sitting in the chair just now?"

"Yes," Frodo confessed. "I am better now." He pulled the quilt up under his chin. "Some nights it bothers me so much I have to go outside and walk the pain away."

Sam's eyes pleaded with Frodo. "Frodo, don't go to Rivendell. It's too dangerous."

"Sam, I have to go."

"You're sick again, aren't you?" Sam asked. "That's the real reason why you're going. And you're taking your physician along with you."

Frodo sighed and sank back further into the chair.

Sam continued. "I may not be fast, but I can see my way through a brick wall if given enough time. Why can't it wait till better weather in Spring?"

Frodo stared into the weak fire. He finally answered. "I will have another relapse on March 10th. Of that Iris and I are certain. Lord Elrond is willing to treat me again and have Iris there to try and learn Elvish medicine." He turned to look at Sam. "It is the only chance we have before the Elves leave Middle Earth. We cannot delay." He looked down into his lap in shame. "Sam, please do not tell anyone what I just told you. I do not want my illness to become public knowledge." Again, he turned to the fire. "We will be back mid-April if all goes well."

Sam sat silent in the bed, thinking about it all. "All right. But if you're not back by April 30th I'm coming after you." He crossed his arms, his mouth set in a firm, thin line of determination.

Frodo smiled, "We will be back before then. Now try to go back to sleep."

"Only if you do too. Now come to bed."

"Samwise Gamgee. You become more stubborn with age, you know that?" Frodo chuckled as he climbed back into bed. They were soon both asleep.


	17. Poetry in Motion

Chapter 17: Poetry in Motion  
Rating: PG

"Well it's a lot nicer traveling in the quiet white snow than in the rain, mud and dark with four Black Riders hot on your trail, let me tell you," said Pippin as he marched along the East Road at point guard. The five Shiriffs accompanying the little group of travelers looked around uneasily at the dark woods on either side of the Road.

"Um, how much further, Captain Brandybuck, sir?" one of the rear guards asked. It didn't matter that they were armed with bows and arrows and each also carried a stout short sword. Pippin's chatter was making them all nervous. They had been on the road all day providing extra security for Frodo and Iris as they traveled on their ponies from Buckland to Bree. Merry had insisted on the extra protection after talking with Sam the week before. The Shiriffs were from the North Farthing and had not heard of the tales of the "War down South." This was an effort to keep Frodo's identity as secret as possible.

"Another three hours or so," Merry replied from atop his shaggy bay pony.

"And you're sure there's going to be another armed escort waiting there in Bree?" he asked.

"That's the arrangements," Merry continued. "But if they do not show up within the next two days, then we all turn right around and come back to the Shire." Merry raised his voice. "Remember, you are under contract with me and Captain Took no matter what. We have arranged to have you put up at the Prancing Pony Inn in Bree for the next couple of days. Then we all travel back to the Shire, unless Mr. Underhill and Doctor Proudfoot decide to stay in Bree."

"Underhill?" Iris whispered to Frodo.

"Right," he whispered back. "I have to travel incognito from now on. The folk in Bree know me as Mr. Underhill from my previous adventures, so we decided to continue on with the little deception. I see no reason why you have to take on a new persona though. But it would facilitate matters if you were to be traveling as my bride. That way we can share a room at the Inn without raising too many suspicions. I doubt if the ruffians seeking to make a quick profit from my demise would be on the lookout for a pair of newly-weds."

Time passed quickly as the little party made their way towards Bree. As they reached the outskirts of the town, a few scraggly houses appeared alongside the road. But most of the Bree dwellings were inside a fortified gate and thick thorny hedgerow. Merry and Pippin interceded at the heavily-armed gate. They were well-known to the Breeland Patrols, and the traveling party was waved into town without incident.

Merry confidently lead the little group along the tangled muddy roadways in the feeble lamplight of early evening. They threaded their way past numerous shops and houses until they reached their goal. The Prancing Pony Inn offered a cheerful oasis in the cold and rather menacingly over-large looking town. The hobbits left the three ponies tied to the front posts and filed into the warmth and confusion of the Inn.

A large Man with huge greying mutonchop whiskers peered at them from over the polished countertop. "And what can I do for you, little Masters?"

"Don't think he's recognized us, Pip," Merry said as he removed the hood of his winter cloak.

"Why! As I live and breathe! Master Brandybuck and Master Took!" the rotund innkeeper beamed with pleasure. "What a surprise to see your smiling faces again in our humble establishment. It seems like it has been forever since last you were here. And why look! You've brought friends." He smiled at the rest of the hobbits standing behind Merry and Pippin. The Shiriffs were gaping in astonishment at the large Men laughing and drinking at the busy bar. Most had never traveled outside of the North Farthing's farmlands before, and the few Big Folk they had seen were always in less-intimidating groups of only two or three. The noise and smoke and high jinks going on in the bar room made the Shiriffs quite uneasy. They formed a protective ring around Frodo and Iris, but kept their weapons sheathed.

"Mister Butterbur, you seem rather busy tonight," Merry laughed. "Do you have any rooms for my friends?"

"Most certainly, Master Brandybuck," the innkeeper smiled. "I have a nice hobbit-sized room with four beds over in the West Wing, and another with two beds further down the hallway. Oh, yes, and your regular room for yourself and Master Took is available."

"If you could add an extra bed to the four-bed room, the Shiriffs can stay there for the night," Merry said.

"Absolutely! Shiriffs? Does this have anything to do with patrolling the East/West Road?" Mr. Butterbur asked. "We aren't ready to start the patrols yet."

"Indeed it concerns the patrols," Merry replied, "but we will talk about that tomorrow. Rooms for the evening are what is wanted tonight, if you please."

"Right you are, Mister Brandybuck," Mr. Butterbur smiled. "Ho! Nob! Over here, you silly goat. Take an extra Little Folk bed into room number four." He gestured for a good-natured brown haired hobbit to do his bidding, then turned to address the Shiriffs. "Good sirs, if you would follow Nob there. He will take you to your rooms. Dinner and drinks can be ordered from the bar, if you've a mind to it. I'm sure the lads in the Great Room would welcome a story or two, if you've a mind to join in the festivities. Quite a crowd we've got tonight. Very busy, you know. Very busy."

A song could be heard from inside the smoky Great Room. "Hey! That's the one I sang at Freddy's wedding," Pippin crowed.

Danny and Lilly were sweethearts, they say.  
They met by the brook on a fine summer's day.  
Lovers forever amidst the gold hay,  
Until the chill wind brought them down.

Honey and apricots, fresh from the tree,  
Naught in the wide world compares unto thee.

Lilly was fair as the bloom of her name,  
With roses for blushes and lips of the same.  
A lovely wild thing which no mortal could tame,  
Until fair young Dan came to town.

Daisies and daffodils, green leaf and tree,  
Naught in the wide world compares unto thee.

She played in the sunshine with wild flutter-byes.  
He courted in twilight with bright fireflies.  
They played and they sang till their bright laughter died  
When her father forbade them to wed.

Satin and crinoline, soft velvety,  
Naught in the wide world compares unto thee.

"Fair Lilly is not for the poor likes of you.  
A young working lad of the land just won't do.  
Bring riches and money or say that you're through."  
Her father to Danny did say.

Diamonds and emeralds, fine ambergris,  
Naught in the wide world compares unto thee.

"Lilly, I'm bound for the wide open sea,  
Past the Grey Havens for Tol Eressea,  
Then homeward-bound to my sweetheart I'll be,  
With riches and stories one day."

Rivers and oceans of deep mystery,  
Naught in the wide world compares unto thee.

"Danny, me lover, you're fair-haired and sweet..."

"Um, Captain Brandybuck, would you rather have us stay with Mister Underhill until he and the doc get settled in?" the chief Shiriff whispered into Merry's ear amidst the hustle and song.

"We can handle it from here, Mister Paddington," Frodo replied. "Thank you ever so much for your help. Perhaps we will see you at dinner." Iris tried to stay in the shadows as much as possible.

"Let's all meet up at breakfast," Merry addressed all the Shiriffs. "Captain Took and I can look out after things from here, thank you." The Shiriffs were quite relieved to be rid of their heavy responsibility, and quickly followed Nob down a long, curving hallway until they disappeared around the bend.

Mister Butterbur was momentarily distracted by a waiter, then returned his attention to the little group left in front of the counter. He screwed up his large, red face and tried to concentrate on the familiar-looking dark haired hobbit before him. "Now wait. Don't tell me." He waved his hand as Frodo was about to speak. "You've been our guest here before, haven't you?" The innkeeper scratched his thinning hair. "It comes to me, then flees out again. Too many things to keep track of, you understand."

"It's Mister Underhill, if you remember," Frodo smiled and prompted.

"Ah, yes. Mister, um, Underhill, is it?" the friendly innkeeper smiled in sudden recognition. "Oh yes! Yes. I do hope your stay here this time will be quite uneventful. No singing or dancing on the tables this time! We want to keep it quiet tonight."

"Let us sincerely hope so," Frodo laughed. He pulled Iris around from behind his cloak. She couldn't help but stare open-mouthed at the imposing, round innkeeper. Mister Butterbur appeared to her as a giant. The innkeeper winked at her. Frodo placed his arm around the blushing hobbittess and gave her a reassuring smile. "Mister Butterbur, may I introduce you to Doctor Proudfoot, my wife? She has traveled with us from Hobbiton."

"Well, well. Congratulations Mister Underhill!" the innkeeper smiled. "And my pleasure to meet you, little mistress. I mean, Mistress Doctor, er, Doctor, er, Mam. No disrespect intended."

Iris could not contain a smile at the big man's dilemma as to her title.

"It's not usual we receive lady travelers to our humble Inn, much less lady hobbits or personages as important as the Hobbiton physician. Well, well. This is delightful. A real pleasure to have you stay with us, Mam." He leaned far over the countertop and proffered a large, fat hand to Iris. She hesitated slightly, but smiled back at the innkeeper and shook his hand.

"But if there is anything we can do to make your stay as pleasurable as possible, you be sure to tell me or Nob or Bob or any of the other Prancing Pony staff," Mr. Butterbur said. Iris blushed and tried to blend in with Frodo's cloak.

Mister Butterbur beamed a broad smile at the two familiar tall hobbits. "Your usual room, Masters Brandybuck and Took? And will you be needing one of the meeting rooms for discussing business this time as well?"

"Yes, please," Pippin spoke. "And some of your fine brew too!" Merry elbowed him.

"Ow! What?" Pippin rubbed his arm.

"Thank you, Mr. Butterbur," Merry said. "We won't be needing the meeting room until tomorrow morning. And you are most welcome to attend tomorrow's meeting, as you know about some of the topics." He smiled. "My father also sends me with a proposal for some trade between Brandy Hall and Bree."

The Innkeeper smiled and winked knowingly at Merry, then turned his attention to Frodo and Iris. "And for you, Mister and Mistress Underhill, I've a nice hobbit room on the ground floor, round windows and all. Just the way you Little Folk like it," Mr. Butterbur said. "I shall try to put you two as far away from the noisy crowd as I can. But you understand, we're very busy tonight. Very busy. Oh yes. Lots of travelers." He snagged a hobbit waiter by the apron. "Ribbie here will show you to your room, Mister Baggins."

"I am afraid you have mistaken me for someone else," Frodo quietly said. "It's Underhill, if you please."

"Oh! Right. Right. Mister Underhill," the flustered innkeeper said and twirled the end of his mustache. "Do forgive me. So much to do and remember. Can't keep it all in my head all at once, you know. Ribbie. Room seven on the West Wing." The innkeeper handed him a large key.

"Oh, so much to do I almost forgot," Mr. Butterbur stopped them as they were about to follow Ribbie down the hallway. "Darndest thing him knowing you would be coming here. But then again, he always seems to know more than most folk. Appears and disappears at will. Shows up so unexpected like."

"Um, Mister Butterbur," Pippin interrupted, "who's that you're talking about?"

"Oh! Right! There's someone waiting to meet with you. I'm sure you'll be pleased to see him again too." The innkeeper came around the edge of the counter. "Ribbie, take Mr. and Mrs. Underhill's things to their room. This way, little masters." He headed them towards a backroom as his assistant carted off the luggage to their rooms. "Come now. Master Gandalf is here, awaiting for you."

"Gandalf!?" Frodo blurted out.

Butterbur arranged for one of his assistants to take care of the ponies and showed the quartet into a dimly-lit back room where the wizard was sitting by the roaring fireplace, smoking his pipe. Merry and Pippin entered the room, but waited until Frodo had a chance to greet Gandalf. Iris studied the wizard from behind the two.

Frodo ran over and embraced his old friend. "Gandalf! What a surprise! How did you know we would be coming?"

"I am staying in Rivendell now. Lord Elrond told me the news of your trip and I volunteered to accompany your escort to the Last Homely House. Well hello there Meriodoc Brandybuck. And Peregrin Took. My, how you two have grown, and I don't simply mean in stature."

"Great to see you too, Gandalf!" Merry replied.

"Can I refresh your pipeweed pouch, Gandalf?" Pippin asked.

Gandalf smiled. "Perhaps later, Peregrin."

"And you must be the doctor?" Gandalf raised himself from his chair and knelt down to take Iris's trembling hand.

"Gandalf, let me introduce you to Iris Proudfoot, the Hobbiton physician and my fiancé."

"Well, well! Indeed!" Gandalf puffed. "Enchanted to meet you my dear." He leaned over to whisper in her ear. "A very special lady indeed if you've managed to capture a Baggins's heart." He took her hand and kissed it lightly. Iris dropped a small curtsy in return.

Butterbur brought the party a hearty dinner of stew, cheese, bread and beer, then left them to the relative quiet of the backroom. The traveling companions sat about and talked, Frodo holding hands with Iris and laughing at Pippin and Merry's jokes and Gandalf's light-hearted banter.

"Here's a bit of news for you," the wizard smiled. "Bilbo is composing naughty poems which are the current rage in Rivendell. He calls them limericks. Some are quite clever and most are slightly naughty in one way or another."

"Oh!" Pippin interjected, "I know several limericks by heart. I made this one up only last week." The slightly tipsy hobbit stood up and cleared his throat.

"There was a young lady from Bree,  
who climbed up one day in a tree.  
An Ent came around  
and was lifting her gown  
when she said, 'That, kind sir, ain't my knee.'"

Merry burst out laughing, almost snorting beer through his nose. Iris giggled and took another slice of cheese.

Frodo rolled his eyes to the smoky ceiling. "Pippin! We are in polite company."

"Naw. It's just Iris," Pippin replied. "And I know Gandalf isn't polite."

Gandalf chuckled. "Very astute. And very impressive, Master Took. Exactly the style and flavor of Bilbo's poetry. You know you would make the Elves very jealous."

"Me?" Pippin asked, incredulous. He sat back down at the little wooden table, sword thumping against the bench, and took another long drink from his ale.

"Yes, you!" Gandalf laughed. "You just easily trumped anything the Elves can do. Bilbo's finally found a poetic meter and subject matter to which hobbits are naturally gifted and the Elves cannot compete. Although Glorfindel is still trying to compose a naughty limerick with Bilbo's name in it, but he just can't seem to get the joke and Bilbo's name worked into the rhyme scheme all at the same time."

Merry whispered something into Pippin's ear, plunked his empty tankard on the table top and belched impressively. "Pardon, but I think I need to see Master Butterbur about a new trade agreement before we all go to bed." He stood up and took Iris's hand and kissed it, bowing deeply from the waist. "I do hope to see you in the morning, doctor. Or should I say, Mrs. Underhill?" Merry grinned and slid a sideways leer at Frodo. Iris punched him in the arm.

Frodo stood and embraced his cousin warmly. "Thank you, Merry. From the bottom of my heart, thank you."

Meriodoc winked at Frodo. "Oh, you're not getting rid of me just yet, Frodo. My task is not finished until I see you with an armed escort out of Bree. I'll be back to walk you to bed tonight, though. Don't leave this room until I'm back." He patted the pommel of his sword affectionately, bowed to the rest of the company and exited.

A waiter came and brought another round of ales. Iris politely declined and stood up. Pippin scrambled to his feet as well.

"If you will also excuse me," Iris said. "I believe a bath and bed are calling me." She looked quizzically at Pippin. "Are you also going to bed, Master Took?"

"Uh," Pippin sheepishly stammered, "I'm your armed escort, Dr. Proudfoot."

Iris smiled and stood on tiptoe to kiss the young hobbit on the forehead. "My Gondor knight in shining armor. You really are quite handsome in that silver and black uniform." Pippin blushed and smiled privately at his own thoughts.

Frodo stood up, hugged Iris to himself and kissed her full lips. "Goodnight my love. I shall be in after a little while. I need a little more time with Gandalf."

"Goodnight Master Gandalf, sir," she said as she and Pippin departed the room and disappeared down the hallway.


	18. Conversations in the Firelight

Chapter 18: Conversations in the Firelight

Rating: R (het. Sexual situations)

Frodo and Gandalf settled back into the rough wooden chairs pulled close to the glowing fireplace. Gandalf threw another log onto the fire. Frodo retrieved his pipe from his coat's inside pocket and lighted up, offering Gandalf some of his Longbottom Leaf. Gandalf gladly accepted the offering, pulling his long-stemmed pipe from his staff and deftly readying the bowl. The two friends blew smoke rings for a few minutes in happy silence, content to relax in the comfort of the familiar Inn.

Frodo crossed one furry foot over the other and turned to Gandalf. "Other than Bilbo's poetry, how are things at Lord Elrond's house?"

Gandalf blew an elaborate series of blue smoke rings which interlocked into a chain and then quietly dissipated into a mist of gold haze. "Busy. Most of the Elves are making the last journey with Lord Elrond come September. His two sons, Elrohir and Elladan, are also making the journey. Glorfindel is staying behind for a few years with some of the Rivendell folk before sailing West. Your uncle is quite excited about your visit and is making himself quite an annoyance to the housekeepers. Ordering strange things to be brought out of storage. New dance tunes to be composed. He's had a special broom made for you. The Elves are quite mystified at that one."

Frodo chuckled. "Sounds to me like he has everything under control."

"Were you aware that the Lady Galadriel is now residing in Rivendell?" Gandalf quietly asked.

Frodo shook his head. "No, I did not know, though it does not surprise me that she should choose to leave now. After all, the Elvish Rings of Power are unable to be wielded any more and their works are unraveling into this new Age. But what of Celeborn? You did not mention him."

"Celeborn is remaining in Lothlorien. He will oversee the rousting of the orcs from the Golden Woods before the Lothlorien elves travel West," Gandalf said. "Galadriel is staying in Rivendell until it is time to depart with Lord Elrond. She wishes to speak with you when you arrive in Rivendell."

Frodo frowned slightly. "Exactly how did she word the request?"

"She said she wishes to speak with the Ringbearer, if that is what you mean," Gandalf languidly replied. "And take care, Frodo. Be aware that not all of the power in the Elvish Rings is finished."

"What does she want?" Frodo asked. A trace of suspicion betrayed his voice. He had seen the powerful Noldor Queen revealed in her might, and truly had no desire to be brought back under her indomitable gaze and silent questioning again.

"You will have to ask her yourself," Gandalf replied, taking a long sip of the ale. "I do not know her purpose. If you have no desire to speak with her, your wishes will be granted. You have, after all, certainly earned the right of privacy. But enough about the Elves. I am much more curious about this wonderful hobbitess you've brought along. Frodo, my friend, tell me more about Miss Proudfoot."

Frodo smiled and leaned back into the chair. "Gandalf, of all the possible endings for my journey, this is the least-expected. After returning home to the Shire and finding it and myself ill, I truly expected to join with the other Ringbearers and travel West, hoping to find healing in Tol Eressea. I never expected to find enough comfort and rest in the Shire to assuage this terrible emptiness inside me. But I have. I do not know how Iris understands me so well, especially when I hardly understand myself most days. But I guess fate had something else in mind when Miss Proudfoot answered my call for a new Hobbiton physician."

Gandalf's wizened face crinkled into a smile. "Well, my friend, congratulations. It has been a long time indeed since I have seen you relax and smile like you do when she is around. And that is good. I am very happy for you. I gather that she is your physician?"

Frodo nodded.

"Then she must be aware of your injuries," the Wizard quietly continued.

Frodo nodded again. "She can no more cure my illness than Lord Elrond can," he matter-of-factly replied to the unasked question. "But her treatments of the symptoms help me endure the recurring problems." He looked up and took a long, deep breath, letting it out slowly.

"Does she know about the offer for you to travel to the West?" Gandalf quietly asked.

Frodo gazed down into his half-full tankard. "Yes, she knows," he whispered. He cleared his suddenly-tight throat. "I upset her terribly last September by telling her about possibly leaving with the Ringbearers. But we have talked about that and about a lot of other things." He sighed and took a sip of his ale. "The talking helps more than any tonic or potion. I think I can endure the nights and the darkness with her beside me. At least, I wish to believe so."

Gandalf did not press Frodo for more information. Even one as wise as the White Wizard, the keeper of Narya, the Elvish Ring of Fire, could not imagine what all this little hobbit had been through to destroy the One Ring. If the Ringbearer chose to tell him what was on his mind, Gandalf would gladly listen. But he would do nothing which would inadvertently bring more sorrow or pain to the one creature in Middle Earth who most deserved a little happiness. The Wizard took a long draw on his pipe and let the wisps of smoke wander where they would. "Is there anything I can do to help you, Frodo?" he finally asked.

Frodo blinked back into the present. He had let his mind wander into other, darker places. It was a habit which he had fallen into when he was not otherwise engaged. He looked across at the most powerful figure in Middle Earth sitting in a plain wooden chair in a noisy, smoke-filled pub; robed in a simple grey cloak, drinking common ale and smoking a simple clay pipe. Frodo smiled wistfully. "I do not know for which to ask. There are a lot of things I can no longer do, what with my illnesses and wounds. Things which are painful for me to bear. I thought I might go mad trying to do so alone."

Gandalf closely studied Frodo's face. It underwent a dramatic change. A look of quiet contentment and peace replaced the all-too-familiar sorrow.

Frodo looked sideways at Gandalf. "But I have lived through that madness. And I learned I wasn't alone. I have Sam. And he has Rose, which means I have both of them. And now I have Iris." He took another deep breath and exhaled slowly. "The amazing thing is that she accepts me for what I am now; not for what I used to be or what I could become. I never expected to find love and acceptance again such as what Sam and I had." He sighed. "It will never be the same between us again."

"What do you mean?" Gandalf quietly asked.

"He is healing more quickly than I. Fitting back into Shire society. Sam is married now and has a child on the way," Frodo smiled. But the smile was quickly replaced with a look of concern. "There is one thing which really bothers him though. Poor Sam is fair torn in two between trying to fulfill his vow to you to look out after me, and his responsibilities for Rose and his family. It took quite a lot of convincing to have him remain at Bag End while Iris and I traveled to Rivendell. Thank goodness Rose is pregnant, or he would have left her to be here right now. I am having trouble getting him to let me go to live my own life."

"So, there is something I can help you with after all," Gandalf smiled. "Perhaps Master Samwise Gamgee would consider his vow fulfilled if I wrote him a letter to that effect. Explicitly releasing him from the vow now that the Quest is over."

"Would you do that for me?" Frodo asked.

Gandalf leaned over to pat the hobbit on the knee. "Frodo, I would do just about anything you ask. We all owe you and Sam such a debt of gratitude all of Middle Earth will never be able to repay. Anything I can do to make your life easier, please name it and I shall endeavor to do it."

"Thank you Gandalf," Frodo replied. "That would be quite a relief to me." The two friends sat in silence for awhile longer. Merry appeared at the doorway, three full tankards in his strong hands.

"Ah, as I expected," Merry grinned. "You two serious old farts sitting in the dark and not a drop of brew between you. Here. Have a fresher on me!" Frodo laughed and accepted the cold, fresh ale.

"Only a cheeky hobbit whom I love dearly could call me an 'old fart' and get away with it," Gandalf laughed as he accepted his ale.

Merry sat down at the table bench and wiped the fresh foam from his upper lip. "I come to understand that you are part of an escort to Rivendell," he said, indicating Gandalf. "I am pleased to hear of it, but where are the others?"

"They are outside guarding," the Wizard quietly replied. "They followed your movements from the West Gate to the Inn. There are four elves in the escort, along with myself. The elves prefer that their presence remain unnoticed until we leave Bree. We will rendezvous with them tomorrow on the Road, if they deem it safe."

Frodo yawned and stood up. "I shall let Iris know of the plans. I would dearly love to stay up and talk into the wee hours of the morning, but I think I shall take a bath and then retire for the evening. See you tomorrow." He handed his mostly full tankard to Merry and thumped him on the back. "Finish this for me, will you cousin?"

"Gladly, after I've escorted you to your room," Merry smiled and also stood up. "Gandalf, would you make sure no one makes off with these before I return?" He indicated the beers. "And if one of the waiters comes over, order me some pickles and cheese too!"

Gandalf chuckled. "As you wish, Master Meriodoc. I shall guard your beers with all of my powers."

Frodo and Merry found the communal bathing room without trouble. Frodo took a quick bath, putting his traveling clothes back on rather than taking the trouble to retrieve his nightshirt from his room before taking the bath. Merry waited patiently at the door.

"I feel like a prized hog at the Free Fair just after its scrubbing," Frodo grumbled as they walked down the hallway. His shirt stuck to his thin, wet frame and his wet hair dripped down onto his collar.

"Nope," Merry replied nonchalantly, "too skinny." His hand was on his sword's hilt, ready to defend his cousin at a moment's notice. For all his shenanigans and pranks, Meriodoc Brandybuck was deadly serious about the safety and welfare of those under his charge. They passed a couple of tipsy Big Folk who raised their eyebrows at seeing one wet hobbit and one very stern, rather tall and definitely armed hobbit walking down the hallway, but gave the pair a wide berth. Pippin was standing guard just outside the door to Frodo's room.

"Thanks, Mer," Frodo said as Pippin opened the door for him. "I have Sting with me. Please don't think you have to stand guard all night, Pip...." His voice trailed off as he and Pippin entered and froze.

The small, rustic room was illumined by a warm, yellow glow from the fireplace. Seated on the hearth, her back towards the door and her feet crossed at the ankles and to the left, sat a hobbitess. She was leaning over slightly, combing her long curly wet hair backwards as she dried it in the heat of the golden fire. She was dressed only in a white nightgown, which clung like a second skin to her wet frame. A dark brown bathrobe lay discarded at her feet. The backlight from the fire only accentuated the feminine outline of her curves. Upon hearing the door open, Iris flipped her still-wet locks across her back and twisted around.

Pippin couldn't help but stare at the near-naked physician. The young hobbit realized a beat too late that his mouth was open and his eyes were practically popping out of his head. He blinked a couple of times and turned to stoically face his cousin. "Uh, what did you say, Frodo?"

Frodo cleared his own suddenly-tight throat and moved to block Pippin's view. He shook his head slightly and broke into a tremendous grin as Iris quickly retrieved her bathrobe and covered herself without saying a word. "I think I was telling you to not stand guard all night." Frodo turned to face his cousin. Pippin's cheeks were burning a bright red, much to Frodo's amusement.

"Oh, I won't have to," Pippin said, stealing sideways glances in Iris's direction as she stood and tied the bathrobe's belt. "but I might anyway. I only have first look .... Uh, I mean, first watch."

Merry poked his head inside the doorway to see what was flustering his cousins. But before he could see anything Frodo quietly, but firmly, ushered the two outside and closed the door.

"First watch?" Frodo asked.

"Now, Frodo, don't be a hardhead about this," Merry said as he put his hand on Frodo's shoulder. "We promised Sam that we would stand guard outside your door during the night. And I have to agree with him. Pippin has first watch and I have second."

"Yell if you need any help in there, cousin," Pippin said as he crossed his arms and grinned.

"You watch your mouth, Pippin," Frodo crossed his own arms. "That's my fiancé in there and I shall brook no nonsense from the two of you."

"What?" Merry asked, for once clueless.

"You mean, your wife, don't you, Mister Underhill?" Pippin couldn't help it. He started to giggle.

"Did I miss something?" Merry was perplexed.

"Good night, Mister Underhill," Pippin said, slapping Frodo on the back. "Sleep well. Kiss Mrs. Underhill goodnight for us," Pippin winked and pushed Frodo back through the door before his cousin has a chance to say anything. Pippin waited until he heard the lock turn, then broke into laughter. "I'll tell you later," was all that Merry could get out of him.

Merry looked up and down the hallway one last time before returning to his ale and cheese with the Wizard. His cousins could be so strange sometimes.

Frodo turned to find Iris in her bathrobe, sitting on the edge of the bed in a puddle of moonlight, still combing out her slightly damp hair. He walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed next to her, carefully placing Sting under his pillow. He retrieved his comb from his backpack and finished combing out his own damp curls.

Iris did not speak. Frodo put down his comb, took the brush out of her trembling hand, and started combing her brown curls. He could not resist the moonlight gleaming on the curve of her neck and glittering on the slender silver chain she wore. Frodo moved her hair out of the way to plant a tender kiss under her ear, and another one further down, gently slipping the soft fabric of her nightgown off her shoulder. She sighed and leaned back into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and held her in the moonlight. He noticed she was trembling slightly. He began to gently rock back and forth to comfort her.

"Iris, what is the matter?" he whispered into her finely-tipped ear. "I hope you are not upset that Pippin happened to catch a small glimpse of you in your nightgown. I certainly appreciated the view, and I know he did too. But it really was only a glimpse, love."

"That's not it." She sighed and waited awhile before answering. "Frodo, I am afraid." Iris leaned heavily into Frodo's cool alabaster body. He held her tightly but did not speak, kissing her neck to give her time to gather her distressing thoughts.

"I've never been outside the Shire before. I had never seen the Big Folk before today. They are so tall and menacing. We must appear as children to them. They must be so much stronger than us. I mean, what chance would a hobbit have against a Man, if the Man wanted to force a hobbit to do something? I feel so small and insignificant beside them."

She turned around to face him. "I don't mean your nice friends, Mister Butterbur and Master Gandalf. Gandalf is ever so friendly, and I had heard about the great Wizard before, of course. He smiles and laughs more than I was led to believe. But truth be known, I am afraid for you now that the journey has taken us outside the Shire. I'm certain there are ruffians here at the Inn. Oh Frodo, I feel so guilty in bringing you here. I've placed you in such danger."

Frodo brushed aside a ringlet of her brown hair and kissed her neck. "You have little reason to be afraid, my love. I will not let any harm come to you, I swear. It is true. Men are much stronger than hobbits. But we can hold our own against them, if need be. But Iris, most Men are not bullies or ruffians. They are more arrogant than hobbits, but are basically the same as us. Some are stupid and slow. Some are brave and admirable. Some are cruel. But most are kind and reasonable, like hobbits."

Frodo extinguished the sole candle on the fireplace mantle. He removed his clothing and climbed into the cool bed and motioned her to join him under the rough covers. Iris joined him, nestling her head in the hollow of his left shoulder, her hand lightly stroking his naked chest. He gathered her into his arms, feeling her body heat warm his perpetually cold scar. He let out a sigh of contentment, for the moment perfectly willing to spend the rest of his life in such a comforting, warm embrace.

"We are well protected now," Frodo said. "Sam made Merry and Pippin promise to take watches outside our door during the night. That is a comfort. But more importantly, Gandalf is with us. And there are also four Elves guarding the Inn. We may not see them until tomorrow, but they are there, protecting us. Lord Elrond has provided us with an excellent escort. Rest easy. We are safe here."

"Is Gandalf how you remember him?" she whispered into the darkness. "I only heard tales of his magical fireworks before I met you and heard about all his deeds in the War. I never expected to meet such a person in a public inn in Bree."

Frodo chuckled. "Where would you have expected to meet him?"

"Oh, I imagine he stays in high and lordly places, like Rivendell or the King's palaces in Gondor," she said, beginning to lightly trace circles up and down his torso. "I actually never expected to meet him."

"He stays at Bag End or the Great Smials when he visits the Shire," Frodo said. "And he visits the Shire as often as he can. He likes hobbits. He told me and Bilbo so on one of his frequent visits. He says he feels quite at home in the Shire. Gandalf has no home; wandering where his tasks take him. Staying where he is welcome. Bringing hope and courage to all who oppose the Enemy."

"But you haven't answered my question," Iris said. She let her hand wander down to lightly caress the silken point of his hip, then teased the dark curls arising from below his flat belly.

"Sorry, but you are distracting me," he whispered and kissed the top of her head.

"Would you like me to stop?" she smiled and nuzzled the smooth skin of his chest with her lips.

"No! No. Please continue," he said in a throaty whisper. "Ah, what was the original question?"

"Has Gandalf changed?" she replied.

Frodo ran his left hand down the curve of her spine. "Well, he has changed now that the Ring has been destroyed. He has completed the task he was sent to Middle Earth to do and seems to be ready to depart. But before then it seems to me that he can finally relax with friends and enjoy himself before leaving Middle Earth. He is not as close and, well, high and grim as he once had to be. Yet at the same time, he is more lordly and wise and even child-like; full of wonder and laughter, if you can understand what I am trying to say. He is still Gandalf my friend from old, but he is also so much more now."

Iris closed her eyes and snuggled deeper into the protective enclosure of his arms. He followed the lead of his nose to deeply inhale the clean fragrance of her fresh-washed hair. Frodo kissed Iris lightly on the cheek and held her tightly. He could feel his desire for her rising with each shared breath and each circle of her fingers across his belly and chest. He could not suppress an involuntary moan of pleasure as her nimble fingers finally ended their teasing and descended to caress his heat.

'I don't even care if Pippin has his eye pressed to the keyhole,' he thought as another soft moan escaped his partially opened lips. His body involuntarily arched slightly, giving his lover access to every square inch of her desire. But even these random thoughts flitted away like bright summer butterflies lost in the blaze of an all-consuming sun.

He quietly slipped his right hand inside her gown, running it up a smooth thigh until it found its target. The old wooden bed frame squeaked in time to their mutual caresses under the sheets. Iris sighed in the pale moonlight, her full lips slightly parted as she removed the blankets and her nightgown, surrendering completely to the magic of his touch and tongue.

The burning embers crackled and popped, releasing their heat into the chilly night air. Yet it was nothing compared to the ardor and passion generated by two lovers sharing one heart.


	19. The Road to Rivendell

Chapter 19: The Road to Rivendell  
Rating: R

"Good morning, Mister Gandalf, sir." Iris smiled in greeting as the White Wizard appeared in the Prancing Pony Inn's stables. Pippin also smiled as he finished lashing the luggage to Bill the Pony. Frodo was busy assembling his own gear atop his chestnut pony, Strider.

"A very cheerful morning to you, Mrs. Underhill," Gandalf replied. "Did you sleep well, Mr. Underhill?"

Pippin picked up the sliver of amusement in Gandalf's tone of voice. "Yeh, Mr. Underhill. Get enough sleep last night?"

"I slept very well, thank you both," Frodo replied without looking up from his task of lashing the food packs onto Strider's haunches. Iris blushed.

"Where's the escort?" Pippin said, looking around.

"Right here, Master Took."

The quiet reply started the hobbits. A couple of elves wearing matching grey-green cloaks materialized from behind haystacks inside the stable. They were startlingly identical in both face and form. Very tall, fair-skinned and dark-haired they were, with grey eyes and somber mouths. They were slender compared to the sturdiness of hobbits, yet Iris could see the athletic build of well-toned muscles and finely-honed reflexes of hunters.

"Mrs. Underhill, may I introduce Elrohir and Elladan, sons of Lord Elrond of Rivendell, and our escorts?" Gandalf made the introductions. "I believe we shall meet up with the rest of the escort later."

"Our wives, Lothwing and Ninniach, await us outside the East Gate, along with our horses," Elladan quietly said. "They will act as front and rear guards, but will travel unseen. We are ready to depart whenever you are."

"I believe we are ready," the wizard said as he mounted his steed. "Master Took. Please give our regards and thanks to Captain Brandybuck and the Shiriffs. May your journey back to the Shire be uneventful. Look for us when you next see us."

"Take good care of them, Gandalf," the young hobbit said, suddenly turning quite serious. "Frodo. Iris. Please come home soon."

Frodo and Iris mounted their ponies. "We shall, Pippin. Tell Sam we expect to see him at Bag End in mid-April. Take care."

And the company was off into the early morning light, bundled up tight against the cold. Frost glittered from the closed shop windows as they departed the town, passing almost unnoticed through the East Gate and stopping only briefly for the extra two horses.

"Did ya see them hobbits what came into the Prancing Pony last night? I swear one of 'em is that Baggins feller the Captain's lookin' fer." The five men crunched wearily through the icy crust on the road East of Bree. It was pre-dawn and bitterly cold. Snow clouds were blowing in from the mountains and a light scattering of snowflakes promised more snow to come as daylight approached.

"Yeh," another replied. "Corporal Gunth didn't get the right one, what I heard tell. Caught himself a halfling runt with only nine fingers." The tall, dirty soldier laughed. "He got the wrong head though. Now Ole Gunth's head is on the pike and the reward's been raised."

"I overheard that fat innkeeper tellin' his lackeys that the dark-haired one's name is Underhill," a squat, vicious-looking man said. "But then I seen 'em wink at one another. Sos I think we got ourselves a good chance here, boys."

The five had vacated Bree during the night in order to lay their trap. The tallest one knew the East Road well enough to lead them into a blind curve surrounded by tall holly bushes and dense forests. The five scattered into the adjoining woods, letting the lightly falling snow cover their trail. They were seasoned veterans of the Easterling army; used to living in the wild and blending into the background. Bows at the ready, they waited for dawn and for their prey.

At about ten bells they heard the first sounds. A lone elf clad in a non-descript grey-green cloak riding a tall grey mare passed down the road. The elf was armed with bow and arrows and a sword at the side. The men held their breaths as the elf reigned in the horse to a slow walk through the curve and carefully looked about. After a few tense moments, the elf continued on down the lane. A lone elf was not their target. However, within fifteen minutes, another, larger traveling party came into view: another tall elf in similar clothing on a fine horse. An old man with a long white beard also on horse back. And two hobbits on ponies. Both hobbits had their hoods up to ward off the snow, so the men could not be sure which one was their intended target. But they were prepared for this problem. They would take any and all hobbits they could find.

The soldiers tensed in anticipation. It was so easy! The traveling party was outnumbered. Piece of cake! Just a little closer. A little closer ... ..

The elf noticed a small movement in the bushes to his right.

"Ambush!" Elladan yelled, drawing his sword and urging his great chestnut stallion to charge directly into the stand of low holly bushes.

The next few minutes seemed to be as in a dream to Iris. She heard yells coming from all sides. Something whizzed by her head, tearing back her hood as the thing flew past her ear. Frodo was turning his dark chestnut pony back towards her. But her own mount, gentle, placid Bill the pony, squealed and shuttered in pain and fright. Iris tried to hold onto the reins, but poor Bill reared up in an attempt to dislodge something from his shoulder. As she was thrown, Iris thought she saw an angry red streak of blood pouring from Bill's shoulder. Time slowed. She could also see Gandalf drawing his staff as she was unceremoniously unseated from her pony, landing with a thud into the brambles and snow on the side of the road. Then she felt a great weight on her left arm, and heard a sickening crunch as Bill stepped onto her prostrate form in the snow.

The pony was suddenly gone. And in its place was one of the Big Folk. He yanked her by the hair to her feet, ignoring her scream of agony as Iris finally realized her arm was broken. Then a knife was at her throat. More arrows flying through the air. Iris heard herself cry out, but the knifepoint under her chin snapped her mouth shut abruptly and she closed her eyes in terror.

"Shut your trap or I'll kill you right now!" the man growled at Iris. "I'll kill the bitch if you don't lay off!" he shouted and spun himself and his hostage around. When Iris opened her eyes, the sight she beheld was horrific.

Four men in dirty armor lay sprawled in pools of vivid crimson splashed in the virgin snow, arrows piercing their bodies like obscene pin cushions. The remaining warrior clutched Iris to his chest in a deadly embrace, using her body as a shield. "Stop shooting or I'll kill the bitch!" She could sense a tiny trickle of her own life-force starting from under the cruel blade at her chin. She dangled like a limp rag doll in the powerful warrior's embrace; feet off the ground and left arm useless; right hand clutching and unclenching spasmodically in sympathy with the pain in her shattered arm.

Frodo pulled his pony up short before the man, and was dismounted before Gandalf had a chance to protest. Frodo's dark cloak whipped behind him like an angry sail caught in the swirling snow. Sting was drawn and ready in his hand. Gandalf blazed white in fearsome anger and pointed his staff at the warrior, but Frodo was blocking his way. The three stood at an uneasy stalemate. The elves were nowhere to be seen.

"Stop your witchcraft, old man, or I'll slit her from ear to ear!" the desperate man threatened. To prove his point, he pressed the point of the knife a bit more into Iris's neck. She involuntarily reared back into her captor's chest, trying to remove her throat from his sharp knife. The blood began to trickle across his hand, lightly steaming in the cold late-winter air.

Iris was wild-eyed with pain and fright. Her right hand clutched at the man's grasp across her injured arm and chest. Frodo could see her gasping for air; her eyes beginning to loose focus. He stepped forward, Sting at the ready, but was brought up short.

"Don't make no sudden moves or I'll slit your bitch's throat." The man took one step backwards away from the advancing hobbit, then stood his ground.

"Your four companions are dead. And I strongly suggest that if you wish to remain alive, you release her immediately." Frodo's eyes locked with the warrior's. "You are outnumbered and surrounded."

The man sneered. "I ain't that stupid. If I release her, yer hidden bodyguards will kill me straight away."

Frodo carefully re-sheathed Sting, stood upright, and held up his empty hands. "I give you my word I will not harm you if you release her immediately. Elrohir. Elladan. Do you hear what I just said?"

Twin voices sounded from the dark woods. "Yes, Ringbearer. We hear and understand."

The warrior looked about. "I don't believe 'em. Let me see 'em, or the lass gets cut some more." Iris could not surprises a cry of pain as the man tightened his grip on her broken arm.

Gandalf sat upright on his steed and brought his staff back to his side. "Elrohir. Elladan. Come forth."

Two identical male elves stepped from the woods on either side of the road. Each was armed with a hunting bow; a deadly arrow notched and pointed at the man's body. Frodo waved them to direct their aim towards the ground, and they complied reluctantly.

"Your business is with me," Frodo said to the man. "Now release her." He turned his gaze towards Iris, but continued to speak. "Trust me. Do as I say."

The man shifted around a bit and sneered. "Trust? I don't trust the Wizard and I certainly don't trust Elves. Why should I trust you, you little squeaker?"

"Because we have business to attend to," Frodo replied.

"Business? Hmmm.... Yes. I guess we could do some business," the warrior said. "Why don't you, me and the lass step away from them others and have ourselves a nice, private talk, eh, Ringbearer? If that's who you are. Tell them Elves to put their weapons on the ground first. You too. Put that little sword down before you come any nearer."

"Do as the gentleman asks, Elrohir. Elladan," Gandalf commanded. The twins complied, deep scowls crossing their fair faces. But they kept their hands loose and free by their sides. Frodo also reverently placed Sting in the snow at his feet, blade away from his body.

The man grinned and relaxed his grip on his captive, finally setting her down into the bloody snow at his feet. He pulled the knife slightly away from her throat but kept his hand in her hair. "It ain't her what I want anyways. Show me your hands again, Ringbearer."

Frodo lifted up his empty hands and spread his nine fingers into the frigid air. "There. Satisfied? Yes, I am the one you want. The name is Baggins. Frodo Baggins."

The warrior's eyes crinkled into slits of satisfaction.

Frodo stepped closer, both hands still up in the air.

"A trade?" the man said.

Frodo nodded slightly. The man let go of Iris's hair to reach for Frodo.

Frodo had not taken his eyes off Iris the entire time. He grabbed her and rolled as she sank into the snow.

Two arrows simultaneously thudded into the man's neck and eye. He screamed, dropped the knife, and clawed at the arrows blinding him and choking him on his own blood. He sank to his knees with a horrible gurgling sound. Frodo covered Iris with his body as the mortally-wounded man wildly spun away from them and towards the rapidly approaching wizard. Blood spattered everywhere as the man crashed into a twitching heap at Gandalf's feet. The twins quickly ran over to the fallen man as Gandalf grabbed the hobbits and moved them out of the way.

Elladan drew his white knife, and with a single stroke, slit the would-be assassin's throat, almost decapitating him in his anger and strength. Blood steamed as it arched into the air briefly, then began to clot on the trampled snow and ice around the dead man's mutilated neck and face.

Frodo could see two female elves clothed in greyish-white cloaks step from the shadows of the surrounding trees; their Elvish hunting bows drawn again and ready to dispatch any more assassins. Elrohir briefly spoke to one, then disappeared with her into the woods. The other stepped up to Elladan, leading her bay mare.

"Secure the area, Lothwing," Elladan quietly said. "Elrohir and Ninniach are retrieving the animals. I shall remain with them until your return." She nodded curtly and disappeared into the swirling snow.

Frodo cradled Iris in his arms. She was doubled over in pain, her brown curls clinging in damp masses to her pale forehead. She clutched her left arm tightly to her body, panting and ashen-faced.

"Uh... Frodo... I'm..." was all she said before she leaned over and retched into the snow.

Gandalf dropped to his knees beside the pair.

"Iris. Where are you hurt?" Frodo gently asked. He wiped her face with his cloak.

"My... my arm is broken." She was shaking. "The pony... stepped on it... when I fell. But the man... twisted it."

"Look up for a second, love," Frodo instructed. He pushed back her hood and quickly studied her bloody neck. "I do not think the knife went in very far. It has already stopped bleeding. How does your neck feel to you?"

"It was... just a nick," she replied in a very unsteady voice. "It's my ... arm. Oh!" Iris closed her eyes and swooned. Gandalf caught her in his arms, moving her into a sitting position in his lap in the snow.

Frodo was now in front of them both. "Iris! Wake up! Wake up! You must tell me what to do!"

It seemed as if she were swimming up from a long distance underwater. Someone wanted her to do something, but she was confused. "What?"

Frodo crouched in the snow and became very stern. "Doctor! Doctor! Wake up. You have a patient who needs you!"

"A patient?" This got her attention. She looked at Frodo and moistened her dry lips. "Where are they? Describe the symptoms, please."

"Our patient has a broken upper arm," Frodo said. "She is very pale and has thrown up and is going in and out of consciousness."

"Our patient is going into shock," she mumbled.

"Is that bad?" a female voice whispered.

Frodo looked up at the shadow which had fallen across Iris's form. Three elves had returned with the horses and ponies, to gather around Gandalf, Frodo and Iris. One was viciously ripping arrows from the bodies of the slain. Elrohir whispered encouragement to Bill the pony, who trembled and snorted with pain from an arrow embedded in his shoulder.

"It can kill a mortal very quickly, Ninniach," Elrohir replied.

Frodo returned his focus to his love. "Iris. Stay with me. What should I do? Our patient is going into shock. Oh, sweet Elbereth, Iris. Stay with me."

Iris felt as if she was slipping into ice water, but she tried to reply. "Www....Warm. Keep the patient warm. Elevate the feet, if you can." It suddenly dawned on her that she was talking about herself. "Frodo, you are going to have to reset the broken arm."

Gandalf shifted the wounded hobbittess slightly and folded his cloak around her shivering form. A clear, white glow seemed to emanate from inside the cloak, bringing warmth to his charge.

Frodo looked up at the elves. "Do any of you have medical training?"

The four looked at each other. "We do not suffer disease and decay as mortals do," Lothwing finally replied. "We have no training with mortals."

"I have assisted my father at surgery, and have some survival training," Elladan replied. "I think I can reset the arm. I have seen it done, but that was many years ago. Maybe over a hundred years ago."

"No!" They were all startled to here such a forceful voice coming from the wounded hobbit lying in Gandalf's arms. "Frodo – I want you to do it. The Big Folk might pull too hard, not knowing their own strength. Frodo, you saw me do it at the Wyncot's farm. You can do this. I know you can." Tears started to her eyes.

Frodo could not reply. Though he may have appeared composed, his mind was screaming a thousand denials. This couldn't be happening! Why Iris? Was she dying? Oh, Elbereth help her! What should he do? What COULD he do? Panic. Frodo was on the edge of panic. He was going to loose her! Someone help!

"Lothwing. Ninniach. Secure the area, then set up camp," Gandalf quietly commanded. "We must spend the night here." The elf-ladies nodded, then vanished into the woods.

Frodo steadied himself and turned his attention back to Iris. "What do I need?"

"Bring me my medical bag." Iris closed her eyes and leaned heavily into Gandalf's warmth. Frodo ran to the wounded pony and had Elrohir hand him the large brown leather medical bag from the pack. The stately elf-lord continued to calm the beast as he finished unloading the bags and luggage.

Frodo ran back to Iris. She seemed to be sleeping lightly. This worried him greatly. The same thing had happened to Ted Wyncot right before he died. "Iris! Doctor! Wake up. Your patient needs you."

Iris groggily complied. "Oh... yes. Make a splint from elbow to shoulder. Two pieces of... of ... wood. Some bandages or rags. Have it ready and tie it to the arm after it has been set." She looked into his eyes and could read the panic. "Frodo? Is the bone sticking out from the skin?"

Frodo swallowed heavily and looked to Gandalf, who gently removed Iris's cloak. "I .. I don't know. I mean, I cannot tell. We need to get you out of your coat so I can see the arm." He mentally cursed himself as he heard the slight hitch of raw emotions in his own voice.

"I am sorry, my dear, but this will hurt." The gentle voice of Gandalf seemed to give strength to both hobbits.

Iris nodded in understanding. "Cut the clothes off me if you have to."

Frodo and Elladan helped her remove the coat and bodice. Elladan unsheathed a small sharp knife and quickly sliced through the left sleeve at the shoulder, exposing the injury. It was swollen with an distinct lump in the middle. The hand was twisted slightly into an unnatural position.

Frodo blanched at the sight and could feel the sweat trickle down his back. He steadied himself and heaved a sigh of relief. "No blood. Nothing breaking the skin." Iris moaned at the cold and started to drift into unconsciousness again. "Stay with me!" Frodo pleaded. She groggily opened her red-rimmed eyes. "Come on, Doctor!" he snapped. "What do I do next?"

Iris sighed and closed her eyes. "Lay the patient down flat. Have someone hold the patient still while you firmly pull the arm back into proper alignment. If you've done it right, it will look and feel correct. It is best if the patient is unconscious during this procedure."

"Doctor?" Elrohir interrupted. "You have another patient. This one has an arrow in his shoulder. He is limping and is loosing blood. Is there anything we can do to help your animal?"

Iris opened her eyes and looked over at the pony. Sympathetic tears rolled down her cheeks. "Oh, poor Bill. In my bag is some lamb's ear herbs. Apply them directly to the wound and it will help stop the bleeding. You will have to remove the arrow first."

Frodo was frantically searching around inside the medical bag. "Which one is lamb's ear?"

Iris closed her eyes. "Medium-sized brown cloth sack tied with blue silk ribbon which has two small buttons on the end of the ribbon." She could hear the sound of branches being gathered and the smell of pine.

"Why the buttons on the ribbons?" Elladan asked as he stripped a couple of small straight pine branches and cut them to size for the splint.

"So I can locate what I need from inside my bag by touch, even in the dark," she replied without opening her eyes. "So I do not get things mixed up and end up killing a patient."

Frodo found the appropriate sack and handed it to Elrohir, who left to tend to the wounded pony. Elladan finished trimming the branches, and had an array of strips of cloth prepared for the splint. He had also laid out several woolen blankets onto a flat patch of snow, creating a temporary bed. With a slight nod, he indicated to Frodo that he was ready.

"Doctor? We are ready to set your arm," said Gandalf. "Now, relax. Let Frodo do his work. Let me guide you into another place where you may rest until sunup and feel no pain." The wizard placed his gnarled hands upon her sweat-covered brow. Within moments the physician was asleep and her breathing slowed to a more-normal rhythm. Gandalf stood and laid her upon the make-shift bed. Elladan moved to her head and firmly held onto her shoulders as Frodo shifted into position beside her left arm. He took in a large breath, then let it out slowly and deliberately as he found her ice-cold wrist and gently began to pull down.

Time seemed to expand at that moment. The arm moved in improbable ways, twisting in a place where his mind knew there should be no movement. Yet he maintained an even pressure and continued to move the broken pieces back into alignment as he remembered seeing Iris do so long ago at the ill-fated Wyncot bedside. And then suddenly, the arm felt 'right' and did not move any more. Frodo looked up at the exposed upper limb. Where once a distinct bulge had been, the arm now appeared natural, if bruised and horribly swollen.

"Set the splint," Frodo whispered to Elladan.

Iris moaned quietly, but otherwise was still as elf and hobbit worked together to immobilize the injury. The splint was quickly set. Elladan went to aid his twin in tending to the wounded pony while Frodo and Gandalf wrapped the sleeping hobbitess into as many warm blankets as possible. By the time Frodo was through cleaning the little neck wound, Lothwing and Ninniach had constructed a rude lean-to shelter from the pine branches of the surrounding woods. They were laying cut branches over the snow pack and had brought over a few large stones, upon which a small fire was blazing and crackling with stored sap.

Frodo sat down into the bloody snow and cried as the elves tended the fire.

The next morning Iris awoke to find herself wrapped up in many blankets, sleeping on top of a bed constructed of soft, fresh pine boughs. Gandalf was sitting across a large, warm fire from her, smoking his pipe. She smiled at the wizard, who smiled back and tipped his hat to her. She could feel the warmth of someone pressed up against her right side; their breathing indicating that they were only lightly asleep. As Iris moved, Frodo awakened with a start.

Frodo explained what happened as he prepared late breakfast for the two of them. Iris inspected the splint and was impressed with the arm setting. Elladan had also fabricated a sling for her arm, which made getting around much more comfortable. After breakfast Iris also inspected her other 'patient'. Bill the pony was much improved, thanks to the calming influence of Elrohir and the surgery of Elladan. But the elves decided that Bill could not work as a pack animal due to his injury.

The group decided to walk to Rivendell and divide the hobbit's baggage between the elves' horses. Iris and Frodo rode double on Strider; Iris in front with her arm in a sling; Frodo in back with his arms about her waist to keep her from falling. She had Frodo brew her some sleeping tea so she will not feel the jostling of her sore arm while they rode. And so they continued on their journey.

Frodo let her drift in and out of sleep as they rode along in the grand silence of the snow. Occasionally Gandalf would let Iris sit before him on his great steed. But more often she preferred the safety of her lover's arms. The rest of the Elvish company walked on top of the snow, leading the wounded pony and their other horses at a pace intended to not only bring relief to the injured, but also ensure that they reached their destination before the appointed date. By the time they arrived at Rivendell mid-morning of March 10th, Iris could go the entire day without the sling, and Bill the Pony was back to carrying the pots and pans.


	20. Descent into Madness

Chapter 20: Descent into Madness  
Rating: PG-13

March 12th

"I think I'll turn in a bit early tonight, my boy." The ancient hobbit carefully slid out of his chair and patted Frodo on the shoulder. "Thank you for the excellent help on my new limerick. I expect to unveil it sometime tomorrow after dinner. That is, if Glorfindel is not afraid to submit to further torment."

Frodo chuckled at the great elf-lord's misery as they sat about the roaring fireplace, sipping mulled wine and chatting about the journey from Bree. The hobbits had arrived a couple of days prior and were settling into the slow, rather timeless rhythm of Rivendell. The month spent traveling from Bree to Rivendell was tiring, especially for Iris and poor, long-suffering Bill the Pony. But the sight of the vast Elvish city set in the midst of melting waterfalls and late-season snow-clad pine trees was one none of them would ever forget.

They had barely finished crossing the Fords of Bruin when a thunderous avalanche of ice flows broke, sending a torrent of icy water downstream. It effectively wiped out any hope of using the Fords until after the main Spring ice melt finished. An advanced party greeted them on the Eastern banks of the Ford. Iris was grateful for the excuse of injury in order to cling to Frodo upon meeting Lord Elrond and Glorfindel at the crossing. Imposing and regal and ageless and wise and beautiful and dangerous and terrible and ... well ... she had run out of adjectives.

Meeting the legendary Bilbo Baggins that afternoon was equally unnerving. But Frodo's apparent ease among the Elves and happiness at being reunited with his beloved Uncle put her troubled mind to rest. Bilbo treated her like a long-lost granddaughter.

"I do have until the 15th to come up with my response," Glorfindel huffed back at Bilbo. "This contest is becoming annoying."

"Only because you have not mastered it yet," Bilbo smiled.

"Good night, Bilbo." Iris rose and kissed her senior on the cheek.

He took her fair young hand in his trembling gnarled one and gave her a hug. "See you in the morning, my dear, if you are not already deep into study with my Lord Elrond, the Master of Medical Madness. You keep her far too much to yourself, Elrond." Bilbo shook an arthritic finger at his host.

"Is no one immune from your teasing?" the Master of Rivendell asked as he simultaneously raised his wine goblet in a long-standing goodnight ritual to the hobbit. "Good night, Master Baggins. May Varda guard your dreams." The hobbit waved goodbye and hobbled down the hallway, leaning heavily on his carved cane; disappearing into the evening shadows. "And you, my young student, should also be off to bed." Elrond turned his attention to Iris. The two had become quite informal in the past two days. Each recognized a healer in the other.

"I feel fine, thanks to your ministrations," she protested. "Almost as good as new." She flexed her left arm to prove her point.

"Yes, but you must rest after such intensive therapy," Elrond said. "Tomorrow we delve into the joined spirits meditation, and I want you with all your wits about you."

"It has never worked with a mortal," the Lady Galadriel said from the shadows. "Except, of course, with the Ringbearer while he carried the One Ring."

"Even if it does not work, the exercise in mind control will bring benefits," the Elf-lord calmly replied. "I have never had such an apt pupil, especially in one of the Edain." Iris blushed at the public praise. "Rest now, Miss Proudfoot, and join me at breakfast."

Iris bowed to the Lord and Lady, then turned to leave the great antechamber's warmth for her own accommodations. Frodo stood and took Iris's arm to escort his fiancé to her sleeping chamber. "And you, young Master Baggins," Elrond continued. "You also should go to bed early. Tomorrow is the 13th."

Frodo paused before replying. "I need no reminder, my lord, but thank you for your concern. We shall see you in the morning."

March 13th

The morning started out peaceful, clear and cool. Frodo was pleasantly surprised to awaken without the long-dreaded pain in his injured shoulder. He did feel a bit chilled, but the fire had gone out of the fireplace overnight and the beautiful dark amber tile floor was distinctly cold in the pale morning sun. He felt much refreshed after taking a nice, long, hot bath. Bilbo was already at breakfast when Frodo padded down to the kitchen.

"Where is Iris?" Frodo asked.

"She and Elrond are in his study, discussing healing techniques and such," Bilbo replied. "I never imagined he would take on an apprentice this late in his time here, but he seems quite taken by Miss Proudfoot's tenacity. She keeps asking so many questions I'm beginning to think she is a Took instead of a Proudfoot. Anyway .... They had breakfast earlier. It is quite unusual for Lord Elrond to spend so much of his energy on a non-Elf, but she seems to have taken his fancy. Two of a kind, you might say. Both very much concerned with healing. Miss Proudfoot is concerned with healing people. Elrond is concerned with healing all of Middle Earth, which occasionally includes people. He confided to me last night that he is impressed with your lass's herb lore. He has consented to try to teach her some Elvish spells of one sort or another. Neither he nor Galadriel are sure a hobbit will be able to make the spells work, much less on another hobbit. But if Elrond is willing to try, far be it from me to dissuade him. But enough about them. How are you doing today, my boy?"

"All right," Frodo smiled. "I must admit to being a bit nervous about the day though."

Bilbo was momentarily distracted by a fresh dish of fruit jams and marmalades being brought to the table, adding to the fresh-baked scones. He loaded his plate and turned to Frodo, "Eh? Didn't quite catch that."

"Oh, nothing," Frodo shrugged, sipping his tea and helping himself to a scone. He smiled a polite 'thank you' to the lovely young elf-maiden who was acting as their server. She returned an enigmatic smile as she carried off the remains of the earlier breakfast and left the two hobbits to their repast. Frodo knew she was probably well over a thousand years old, but could not help but think of her as being in her early twenties.

"Now, now, Frodo," Bilbo admonished, "you can't hide things from your Uncle Bilbo. Just like you can't hide the fact that you're hair is finally beginning to turn grey. Something is bothering you. Come right out and say it. It's just us two here."

"Well, I usually fall ill on this day, if you must know," Frodo admitted. "That is one of the reasons Iris and I are here. To see if Lord Elrond can teach her new treatments for my illness."

"You're ill?" Bilbo stopped eating. "Goodness gracious me. You don't appear ill. What is the illness from?"

"I had a rather nasty spider sting while on my journeys," Frodo said, not wanting to upset his elderly uncle with too many details. Bilbo frequently forgot things at his advanced age, and Frodo did not want to cause him undue worry. "It sometimes bothers me." He took another bite out of the scone. The lemon curd marmalade was wonderful.

"Spider bites?" Bilbo questioned. "You should be over them, unless you mean one of those horrible big wood spiders like the ones I ran into in Mirkwood. Now, there's a nasty bite for you. When were you in Mirkwood? I didn't think you went to Mirkwood." Bilbo sipped his tea.

"It was not in Mirkwood, Bilbo," Frodo calmly stated, "but it was one of those large horrible spiders, like in your adventure. I seem to be fine today though. I was hoping to show you my additions to your book. If you have the time? I brought it all the way from Bag End."

The change of subject brightened up Bilbo's crinkled face. "Ah, my book. Do you have it with you? I do hope you've done some work on it. I'm afraid I left it in a jumbled mess when I gave it to you last time. Yes, yes. Let's go into my study and take a look at your work. So glad you brought it with you, my lad. Come on ....Grab a couple extra biscuits and the tea service, will you? That's my boy."

The ancient hobbit grunted down out of the chair and grabbed his cane to hobble off towards his quarters. Frodo found a tray and brought the tea service and breakfast as he was bid. They wandered past gracefully curving corridors and hallways leading into parts of Rivendell unknown to Frodo. Soon they arrived at Bilbo's private rooms. The Elves had scaled down the furniture and railings to accommodate the hobbit's diminutive stature. They had done so out of the great respect and love they maintained for Bilbo. A comfortably small writing desk and chair situated along the North wall of Bilbo's study gave access to the light streaming through the glazed window. A cheery fire burned in the fireplace and a second chair and extra blankets had been added to the room. Bilbo never noticed, but someone always maintained his rooms for him whenever he went down to the communal kitchens and dining rooms. It was a little service the Elves did for the former Ringbearer, to which he was completely unaware.

Frodo excused himself after helping Bilbo into his easy chair by the fire and wrapping his legs in the fine woolen blanket nearby. Bilbo was already nodding off by the time Frodo softly closed the door and finished setting up the tea service. The hallway felt rather chilly to him, but he passed that feeling off as owning to walking on the cold tile floors. Frodo's own quarters were nearby, so he was quick about locating the book and returning to Bilbo's study. He found his Uncle lightly snoring. Frodo closed the door and added another log to the fire. It felt wonderfully warm in the room, and the sunshine streaming in through the window lighted up dust motes drifting along in an unseen air current. The smell of the fresh scones and lemon curd lingered in the air. It was altogether lovely and soothing. Frodo placed the book onto the desk, then sat down in the other chair, sipping his tea. He would wait for Bilbo to awaken. There was no rush. The day was early. The room was warm. He was full of tea and crumpets and slightly mushy thoughts about his upcoming wedding.

After about an hour, Bilbo awoke. Frodo was simply sitting in the chair, staring into the fire's low embers.

"Oh, um, didn't mean to drop off like that," Bilbo cleared his throat and sat up a little in the easy chair. Frodo did not answer. He was rubbing his left arm and looked rather sad. "Frodo? Is something bothering you, lad?"

Frodo moved his gaze from the fire to his Uncle's face. "Well, to tell the truth, yes, there is. I was just thinking, Bilbo. You left the Shire so suddenly. You left me so suddenly. That night of our birthday party. I knew you were up to something, but you never said anything to me about leaving and coming to live with the Elves. It has always bothered me." Frodo's keen blue eyes stabbed into Bilbo's soft brown ones. "It has always bothered me. Why did you leave so suddenly? Why didn't you ever tell me your plans? I would have kept your secret. Why confide in Gandalf and not me?"

Bilbo sighed. "Fix me some tea, will you lad? This may take awhile." Frodo removed the tea pot from its place on the warm hearth, poured a fresh cup single-handedly, and brought the cup over to Bilbo. He resumed his seat, absentmindedly rubbing his left arm. His shoulder was beginning to ache, as well as the back of his neck, but he did not want to interrupt his uncle.

"For quite a few years after you came to live with me, I had no thoughts about ever leaving the Shire," Bilbo softly began. To Frodo's ears it sounded like a confession Bilbo had been rehearsing for many years. "The responsibilities of raising a young and rather strong-willed tweenaged hobbit outweighed any adventuresome tendencies I might have had in the past." Bilbo chuckled and sipped his tea.

"I hope I was not too much trouble, Uncle," Frodo smiled sadly, thinking of the past. He was aware that Bilbo had given up much in order to adopt him and raise him at Bag End. Frodo always felt a strong debt of gratitude towards his Uncle, and loved him as much as he could love anyone.

"Well, no more and no less than any other young hobbit," Bilbo laughed. "Frodo, my lad, I would not change a second for all the dragon's gold in Middle Earth." He leaned forward and placed a gnarled hand upon Frodo's knee. "You are my delight and joy. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you, my boy. Nothing. I love you more than life itself." Bilbo wiped a tear from his eye. "I must be getting sentimental in my dotage," he murmured, reaching into his pocket and producing an embroidered cream-colored silken handkerchief.

Frodo blushed at such praise. Bilbo rarely complimented him in the past, being a rather reserved and strict gentlehobbit of the old ways. "And I love you too, Bilbo," he whispered. A lump caught in his throat, and his jaw suddenly hurt fiercely. He ignored the pain and patted Bilbo's hand.

"As much as I loved you and wanted to be there for you, I knew in my heart of hearts that I must eventually leave the Shire," Bilbo settled back into his chair and continued. "I could not place my finger on it, but something did not feel right to me. Something was .... was.... oh, how shall I say it? Something was unsettled. Like I had to do something. Something important, or I would loose you and everything I loved." Bilbo took another sip and smiled.

"Gandalf must have suspected something, for he started appearing at Bag End more and more regularly. He kept commenting on how 'well-preserved' I looked and other such rubbish. At least, back then I thought it was rubbish. Now I know he was very concerned about me. Of course, he knew I had a magic ring, but we didn't know exactly what it was back then, now did we?" Bilbo suddenly got quiet and rather sad. "If I had known what it was I picked up in Gollum's cave I would have thrown the blasted thing back into the depths and run out of there, taking my chances with the goblins."

Frodo sighed and pulled a blanket around his own legs. He was getting chilled again. His illness had returned. But he wanted to hear Bilbo out. Frodo thought he could ride the pain until he had heard Bilbo out. He settled back into the chair.

Bilbo continued. "About three months before your coming-of-age, Gandalf and I planned out the events. I even drew up my will and had Mayor Whitfoot sign it as a precaution. I was restless and knew I had to leave the Shire. Don't ask me how I knew it, I just did. I simply HAD to get away, and I used your coming-of-age as a convenient excuse to shed myself of Bag End and all my belongings and responsibilities. Then I would be free again. Free to join up with the dwarves and travel. I'm sorry lad, but that's the truth." Bilbo sighed. "Not terribly noble of me. I wanted to get out and see the world again. See mountains. The woods. The Elves. Go traveling with dwarves. I had the wanderlust upon me and I could not deny it." He winked at Frodo. "You have it too, you know. You get it from your father. Did I ever tell you of the time he and I snuck off and traveled all the way to the Grey Havens? I've seen the White Towers. No? Lovely place. Very much like Hobbiton, you know. Little hills and dales, but with the sandy soil of the sea. Not very good for digging smials. But very, very lovely all the same. Oh well, some other time." He stopped and took another sip of tea.

"The night of our birthday, Gandalf and I got into an argument over my blasted Ring." Bilbo looked up at Frodo. "Um .... That silly old wizard said you had it. Do you still have it?"

"No, Bilbo," Frodo gently said. "I lost it some time ago. I am sorry."

"Oh," Bilbo murmured, "Pity. Such a lovely thing. Anyway..... Gandalf said I should leave it to you and not take it with me on my adventures. Don't know why he was so insistent on that. Didn't ask me to do anything else. When it came right down to it, I didn't want to leave it behind. But he convinced me, and I am glad he did. It was always a bother." Bilbo became introspective. "Always demanding things. Wanting me to do things. Talking to me. Singing to me. Whispering to me in the dark. Disturbing my sleep. Trying to get me to leave you behind and take it South somewhere. Quite a bothersome thing, really. But I did like it. So beautiful. So perfect." He looked sideways at Frodo.

"Do you still have it? I would very much like to see it."

"No, Bilbo," Frodo gently said again. "I lost it some time ago. I am sorry."

"Well, no matter," Bilbo began again. "I left the Shire so that you might grow. I had to leave the Ring. I could not stay. I don't know if you understand, but the Shire had become anathema to me." Bilbo gestured with a tea cup towards Frodo. "You, my dearest boy, my love, my heir, had also become unbearable for me to tolerate."

Frodo's pain in his shoulder worsened. "Me? Whatever do you mean?"

Bilbo blushed slightly. "I hate to say this, but it's the truth. I could no longer bear to look upon you, Frodo. You were everything I was not and wanted to be." Bilbo looked down into his teacup, embarrassed. "You were young. You were beautiful. You were intelligent and inquisitive and thoughtful and everything I could have hoped for in an heir. You were an old hobbit's fondest wish. And you were so innocent. You broke my heart with your beauty and innocence." A tear coursed down Bilbo's lined face. He brushed it aside. "I could not stay and corrupt you, my love, my boy. The Ring was telling me to do terrible things, and I could not bear that you would be part of it." Bilbo looked down into his teacup again. "I left so that I would not endanger you. I am just sorry I let Gandalf talk me into leaving you the Ring as well. If I had known what it was, I would have never done so." The ancient Ringbearer's mouth quivered with emotion. "I am so sorry, Frodo. Sorry for everything. It's all my fault." He broke down and cried.

Frodo's neck and shoulder was aching terribly, but he went to his beloved Uncle's side and gathered the elderly hobbit into his arms. "Shush, now, Bilbo. Shush. Everything worked out all right. The Ring is gone and I am still here and you are still here. It was not your fault. Shush."

Bilbo sobbed. "That's why I had to leave the Shire, my boy. Because of you. You were too close a reminder of what I once was. What I could never be again. The Ring had started to consume me and I had to give it up. I had to get away from it. I am sorry I left it with you. If I had known of its evil back then, I would have taken it with me to Rivendell and we might not be here today with you so sick. I am sorry, my dear boy. I love you more than anything." Bilbo sobbed into Frodo's aching shoulder. The tears seemed to help lessen the pain.

"Bilbo," Frodo whispered into his uncle's ear, "I love you. You are the father and mother I never really knew. You have done so much more for me than I can ever repay." He let his distressed uncle finish crying, then kissed Bilbo on the cheek, stood and slowly gathered up the tea service.

"I brought the book," he said, indicating the large loosely-bound volume on the desk. "I shall leave you to it, if you do not mind being alone for awhile?" Frodo was giving Bilbo a chance to recover from his emotional outburst.

Bilbo wiped his damp eyes with the handkerchief and sniffled, "I'll be fine, my dear boy. Go on now. I shall see you at lunch." Frodo had a little trouble controlling his left hand, but Bilbo did not notice, and Frodo managed to leave without arousing his uncle's suspicions. Once outside the door, he sagged and sat heavily onto the tile floor, setting the tea service down with a slight clatter just outside the doorway.

'I have to find Iris,' he vaguely thought, struggling to stand and staggering to his bedroom. Once inside he managed to add a couple of logs onto the fire before climbing into bed fully-clothed with an extra blanket atop the sheets. Frodo drifted into an uneasy sleep, dreaming of chilly nights at Bag End with his Uncle hovering over him, the Ring glinting blood-red in the firelight and dangling from a silver chain just out of his reach.

In the dream, Bilbo taunted him. "It's mine," he hissed through strangely pointed and decaying teeth. "My own. My precious. You'll die if I give it to you. Better leave before they come for it. You know of what I speak. You've tasted its lust too. It should never have been given to you. It doesn't belong to you! It's mine!"

Bilbo's beloved face transformed into the hideous blankness of a Ringwraith. A great black shroud-enwrapped wraith mounted upon a tremendous black beast with naked leather wings. Frodo could see the pale green inner light inside the void where the King's face should have been. The sickly green light inside the hood coalesced into a twisted parody of a familiar face. Aragorn! The Pale King was Aragorn! Perhaps Aragorn would save him!

But this Aragorn was no longer human. His rugged features were twisted and sunken in decay. He drew Narsil from a rotten black leather scabbard strapped to his side. The sword also transformed itself. Instead of the gleaming bright shard of Elendil, the blade smoked and hissed into the familiar acid-eaten poisoned sword! Too late! He could not run! His feet were immobilized in something foul and stinking. He could not hide from this twisted parody of Aragorn. The Wraith King laughed and threw back his hood, revealing his silver crown. But the sea bird's wings were broken, and a trail of blood dripped from the shattered feathers, cascading down Aragorn's countenance as if he were crowned with thorns and anointed in the blood of Numenor.

A golden ring somehow slipped about Frodo's torso, pinning his arms to his sides. It started squeezing the breath from his body. Each time he exhaled the Ring tightened its grip about his waist. With a look of utter satisfaction, the Pale King banked his black winged steed and swooped in for the kill. He plunged his sword deep into Frodo's shoulder, then twisted it to further prolong the torment. Frodo cried aloud, writhing to free his trapped arms, then the vision went dark, and Frodo remembered no more.


	21. Welcome Back, Frodo Baggins

Chapter 21: Welcome Back, Frodo Baggins  
Rating: PG

"Frodo? Frodo!" The magisterial voice insisted upon being heard. "Come to the light. Come to the sound of my voice. Peace and healing are here. Come back, Frodo Baggins. Come to the light. Come back."

He ignored its melodious sounds. He had heard it before, somewhere in his dim memory. It was familiar. Once he had followed it out to pain and forgetfulness. The voice was now too bright. Too much light. Too white and clear and shining. Like summer sunshine. Like mountain air after a refreshing rain. Too pure for the likes of his wretched self.

"No. Go away. I do not seek your light. Leave me alone in the shadows. I am corrupt. I failed. I belong here."

"Frodo? Frodo!" The frightfully powerful voice continued. "Come back to us."

A second, even more powerful voice joined in the singing. This voice was a painfully bright mix of deep watery blue and pale gold. "Come back to your life, Ringbearer. Listen to the song of Arda. Hear the music of creation. Come back to the light. Peace and healing are within your grasp. Forgiveness lies within yourself."

"No. Leave me alone. You are too bright. You are hurting me. Please stop. I cannot abide your brightness. You are piercing me. Ah, my heart! It hurts so. Stop the singing. Please. I am weary. I am too dirty for you. Leave me alone."

Another fainter voice joined in the singing. "Frodo? My love." This also sounded familiar, but in a different way. The voice was a soothing soft green. Not a harsh, blazing pure white or blue. Green as in the grass around Bag End in the early spring. New leaves on willow trees. He could tolerate this voice easier than the others. It sang a faint descant to the overpowering bright voices, but was distinguishable from it. Like the sound of a nightingale heard above the din of funeral drums and trumpets. He decided to concentrate on this voice. "Frodo? Take my hand, love. Come back to me. It is easy. Gently. Slowly. Listen to my voice and take my hand. Come back to me, my love."

He was curious about this voice. It seemed fresh and young and not too overpowering. Perhaps even timid. This one did not hurt. Perhaps he would turn towards this voice. It was compelling like the white voice, and supported with the terrible strength of the blue voice, but it was different. Smaller. Safer. More 'right' if that word could be used. More like himself. He didn't feel threatened by the green voice. He was afraid he would be burned in the white voice's song. Or drowned in the vastness of the blue. But if he joined in with the green voice, perhaps it would stop the hurt. He decided to trust the green voice.

"Yes. I come, but I am afraid. Don't let the shadows hurt me any more, please? Don't let me be swallowed into the brightness. I am so tired of the cold and pain. So tired..."

"Frodo!" The three voices sang in unison. "The shadows depart and are gone. Come into our light. Come back. Join in singing the praises of Eru and of love." The green voice became solo, carrying him along upwards towards a dim, golden haze. It was warm there. He could finally be warm again. He surrendered at last to the green voice.

Frodo opened his eyes to find himself in his bed in Rivendell. It was late evening, judging by the blackness outside the window and the golden-red glow from the well-stoked fire. Frodo sighed. It had happened again. He knew it in his aching bones and in his phantom finger. His jaw and neck hurt and his left side felt numb, but at least he was awake.

"Welcome back, Frodo Baggins." The white voice was talking. Frodo turned his head to his left and saw Lord Elrond standing beside his bed. The tall, stately Elf stood revealed in a bright white blaze to Frodo's enhanced vision. He had both his hands upon Frodo's bare left shoulder, his ring of power imparting its own warmth into the old scar. He smiled briefly at the tired hobbit, then returned his concentration upon the treatment.

The Lady Galadriel stood behind Lord Elrond, her slender hands upon the stately Elf lord's shoulders, her ring of power blazing a bright blue. She appeared to Frodo as if he were looking at her from underwater – her very form wavering and shifting inside a mantle of power. It was disquieting and comforting all at the same time. The melancholy sweet promise of drowning. Of giving up to elements beyond his control. Drowning would be so easy. So familiar. So sweet and final. She would relish his acquiescence, he was sure. She would eat his soul.

Frodo turned his head to the right and was rewarded with a vision of Iris. She was sitting on his bed, holding his right hand, clothed in a soft green aura. He recognized her as the green voice. She bent down and kissed his feverish cheek, her soft brown curls brushing his naked chest.

"Hello, love," she tenderly said, gently caressing his own sweat-soaked greying curls. "I am so glad you're back with us." Her soothing voice was a balm for his weary soul. "What hurts right now, love?"

Frodo couldn't speak at first, his jaw ached so much. He swallowed painfully and Iris gathered some pillows to prop his head up. After drinking a weak medicinal tea of some sort, he was finally able to mumble, "Neck. Jaw."

"Can you move your left hand for me?" Iris inquired. Frodo was able to comply, much to his surprise. Elrond and Galadriel stopped their ministrations. Galadriel seemed to retract her power back into the ring, then retreated to the foot of the bed. Elrond had Frodo lean forward slightly so that he could examine the back of Frodo's neck. The stately elf's touch was immediately soothing. Frodo let out an involuntary sigh and closed his eyes. Iris brought over a fragrant cool compress and placed it against his aching jaw. It smelled of fresh clover and apples. "Better?"

He nodded. It did feel better. At least he knew where he was and who they were. It was better than last time. Frodo opened his eyes and looked about the room. Much to his chagrin, they were not alone. Bilbo sat in a hobbit-sized chair in the corner, smoking his pipe and creating a series of small grey smoke rings which disappeared up the chimney. He winked at Frodo and smiled. Frodo managed a weak smile back at his Uncle. Gandalf was sitting in a Elf-sized chair next to Bilbo, also smoking. He blew an elaborate blue smoke ring in the shape of a dragon and sent it chasing off after Bilbo's smaller smoke rings. Gandalf also smiled and winked at Frodo.

Galadriel was standing at the foot of the bed, intently watching Frodo. For some unaccountable reason he suddenly wished to be released from her gaze. He had never felt uncomfortable around the Elf Queen before. But there was something she wanted from him now. Something so important to her that she was willing to even give up what little power remained in her ring to help in his healing. But what could he possibly have which she craved? He no longer had the One Ring. He could think of nothing he had which she could possibly want. Frodo's lips tightened slightly as he shook his head.

Time stood still. Galadriel continued to stand at his feet; silent, immovable, and as unfathomable as a sapphire statue. Staring at him with an unreadable expression. Frodo felt as if she was holding a debate within herself on whether to attempt to get back inside his head or not. But her blue aura was faltering as he continued to gaze at her. He blinked and saw her as a slender elf-maiden fair as dew on the dawn of the world - not as the commanding Ringbearer of Ninya, the element of Water. The room was ominously quiet as everyone waited for the growing tension between the two to be broken. Finally, Frodo closed his eyes and leaned back into the pillows. Galadriel abruptly turned and departed without saying a word.

"May I have a moment alone with Iris, please?" Frodo asked. He hoped he was understood, as his voice sounded more like the croaking of frogs than a normal voice to his sensitive ears. Elrond released his neck and bowed slightly.

"Come Gandalf. Bilbo," the Elf-lord intoned. "We shall return when you are ready, Frodo. For now, sleep and recover. You have had a long afternoon, but you are safe here." They left the room to the two hobbits.

"Iris?" Frodo asked, "did I ... did I do ... um... anything bad or strange this time? Did I insult Galadriel or anyone else? I do not remember anything after coming back to bed following my visit with Bilbo in the morning." Her aura was fading, as was his headache.

"No, my love," she replied, wiping his brow. "This time you only stayed in the shadow land while unconscious. You were never in danger and never presented a danger to others. You have nothing to worry about or fear." She kissed his cheek again. "And I have learned a lot from Lord Elrond about your illness. I feel much more confident in treating you from now on." Iris smiled. "It was an excellent idea to come here at this time, even if I am the one who suggested it. And even if I can never use this technique ever again."

"You seem terribly smug for some reason," Frodo blinked and tried to smile, but only managed to look slightly less pained. "I do not feel much better than last time, to be quite honest."

"Ah, but you are much improved," she said. "You have control over your left arm. You did not loose yourself to your memories this time. Your breathing and pulse remained steady and strong throughout the episode. And you responded to my calls while you were in the echo of the shadow world."

"What does that mean?" he asked.

"Do you remember having a nightmare?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied. "Bilbo had the Ring and was taunting me with it. The Nazgul were after me again, and again I was stabbed. I heard voices calling me. I could not bear to look at the white or the blue voice, so I decided to go with the green voice."

Iris caressed his curls, gently wrapping a lock around his finely-pointed ear. "You would have come out of your nightmare by yourself, given time. Lord Elrond, the Lady Galadriel and I only helped guide you today. He has taught me so much in these last few days. I feel confident that we can weather whatever illnesses you have, no matter where in Middle Earth we live."

Frodo closed his eyes and sighed in contentment. "Um... . My mother used to do that after reading a bedtime story."

"Twisted a lock of hair around your ear?" she asked, continuing the gentle, smooth motion.

"Yes," he sighed. "It's so soothing. So calming. Like you."

Iris continued to caress his curls until she was certain he was asleep. Tucking the covers about his frame, she quietly left the room, only to bump into Elrond awaiting her in the hallway.

"Please come with me, Doctor. We need to discuss further treatments for Frodo." They walked down the hallway and entered the elf-lord's private study. Iris seated herself on the low carved wooden stool she had been using for the past few days. Elrond sat at his desk, one hand supporting his chin as he gazed through the intricately-carved wooden latticework; the other lightly tapping rhythm on the polished desktop. He finally spoke.

"You know we only treated the symptoms this time?"

Iris nodded and folded her hands in her lap.

"There is no cure for this illness in Middle Earth," he continued. "The poison has fully infiltrated his body and cannot be removed." He sat back into his carved chair. "Frodo will suffer relapses for the rest of his life and they cannot be predicted."

Iris frowned. "But... but he did better this time."

"Only because the Lady Galadriel and I were here and were able to use what little power remains in our Rings. This will never happen again."

The Elf-lord watched as the magnitude of what he said registered on Iris's face. "The poison has affected some of his internal organs, doctor," he continued. "Frodo will probably experience pain not only in his joints, but also in his stomach." Elrond's normally serene face darkened into a look or utter regret. "And I am sorry to say this, as I know you are to marry him, but the poison has also affected his ability to father children."

Iris could feel a rush of blood spreading across her cheeks. She looked down into her hands. Her empty hands. "There's no hope for children?" she quietly asked.

"There is always hope, my dear," Elrond smiled. "But it might be best for you to not even attempt to become pregnant."

Iris sighed and then straightened an imaginary wrinkle in her skirt. Frodo was her patient and she would do whatever was in her power to alleviate his distress.

"Frodo may not have long to live," Elrond continued. "I want you to fully know what you are getting into, Doctor. His health will always be precarious at best. There is no cure for him here."

Iris's secret hopes for a cure crumpled into bitter dust upon hearing the final diagnosis. "We must discuss this with him," she finally said. "I left him sleeping."

"Go back to him, my dear," Elrond said, his heart going out in sympathy to the obviously-distressed hobbitess. "Frodo needs you more than ever, and your presence brings him more comfort and rest than all the Elvish medicine in Rivendell."

"Come with me, please," she asked. "He needs to hear what you have to say. And I... well... I am reluctant to be the one to tell him."

Frodo was awake when they returned. He had climbed out of bed and was dressing himself as they entered. Sometime during his ordeal, his clothes had been removed and he found himself in nothing save his nightshirt.

"I found you in bed at about eleven bells, fully-clothed, cold, and tossing about a bit," Iris said as she handed Frodo a pair of his breeches. "When you didn't fully awake, I went and brought Lord Elrond in. We managed to get you to undress yourself and put on your nightshirt. You were quite cooperative, even if not fully aware."

This upset him, knowing that he was unconscious for so long. "Iris, I do not remember a thing about that," he said. "I really do not remember anything after leaving Bilbo's study." He rubbed his still-sore neck and settled into a chair beside the fireplace.

"Don't worry too much about it, love," Iris said as she came over and started massaging his tight muscles. "You were asleep most of the time. Lord Elrond sedated you with a rather strong spell. You probably will not remember much. Rest assured, you mostly slept the afternoon away. You did not wander about or get up or even talk in your sleep much this time."

The stately Elf pulled another chair up to the fire and settled into it.

"I talked in my sleep again?" he asked, letting her strong fingers kneed the kinks and pain out of his old wound. "What did I talk about this time?"

"Oh, I think you thought you were back at Brandy Hall in Buckland," she said. "You must have been reliving something from your past a long time ago, since you mentioned your mother." Iris kissed him on the neck. "I went ahead and let you think that I was your mother at one point, since that seemed to bring you great comfort. You went back to sleep after that, and rested for quite a long time."

"I think I have had quite enough rest for now," Frodo said. He glanced from Elrond to Iris and did not like what he saw. Iris was avoiding direct eye contact. Frodo stilled her fingers from their massage and brought her around to face him. "Go ahead," he quietly said. "Give me the bad news."

Iris looked down into her empty hands. Frodo held Elrond's steady gaze.

"Today's treatment was unique," the elf-lord said. "It will never be accomplished again. As apt a pupil as your dear physician is," he turned to smile at Iris, then looked back at Frodo, "the gifts given to the First Born are not those given to those who follow. When the Elves depart, this type of treatment will also depart. You will have to rely on herblore and mortal medical practices. Such is your fate, Frodo Baggins, unless you decide to go with us to the Undying Lands."

Frodo nodded in understanding. "I do have a question. Will these episodes become worse over time? What can I expect?"

"I cannot tell," Elrond said. "Your body might somehow process the poison through the years. If that happens, the symptoms will lessen. But I must warn you. I have seen one other mortal who survived a Morgul-blade and lived to tell the tale. He was a Gondorian Prince and lived many years in constant pain after the wounding. It eventually wore him away to nothing."

"But... But you said Frodo is not responding like that patient!" Iris angrily interjected. "Frodo came back! He recovered. He only gets these outbursts twice a year."

"I have had them at other time too, Iris," Frodo quietly corrected.

"When?" Iris asked. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It happened during the Quest." Frodo became extremely still and introspective. He rubbed his left shoulder as a reflex to the memory. "When the Nazgul were nearby. But they are destroyed now. I did not think it necessary to tell you."

"Oh, Frodo," Iris sighed, sank down to the floor and patted him on the knee. "You need to tell your physicians everything. Who knows. Some little snippet of information may be the key to your recovery."

"The only place where Frodo might find true recovery is in Tol Erassea," Elrond softly said. "This wound will never fully heal here in Middle Earth. Of this, I am certain."

The look of hurt which crossed Iris's face was almost too much for Frodo to bear. "Lord Elrond? Would you please give Iris and me some time alone?"

The Master of Rivendell stood looked knowingly at Iris. She scowled and nodded slightly. Elrond bowed to the Ringbearer. "Whatever your decision, you are welcome to remain here in Rivendell for as long as you need." He departed with a swirl of dark grey robes.

"Iris?" Frodo took her hand. "I fear Lord Elrond is correct. I shall not improve over time. I can feel it in my bones. In my blood. In my heart. I will suffer from this illness the rest of my life."

He looked at her down turned face. "Tell me the rest of it."

She couldn't bring herself to meet his quiet gaze. She couldn't. It was too painful. But her duty as a physician to tell her patient the truth forced her to speak. "We.... We can't have children," she finally managed to say. Another silent tear escaped.

"I know," he whispered. "I have known for at least a year now. If it bothers you, we can call off the wedding." A look of infinite sadness came to his blue eyes. "I do not wish to burden you as a husband who has such an illness. I will not hold you to your vow, if you decide against marrying me. I will understand."

"Oh, sweet Eru, Frodo," she sighed. "I cannot imagine what you lived through, nor what pain you continue to suffer. But I swear I will be there for you, no matter what. I love you, Frodo Baggins. And if you will have me, I shall be your wife. In sickness and in health. Wherever in Middle Earth you are, there I desire to remain." She placed her head in his lap, a silent tear escaping from her tightly shut eyes.

Frodo sighed and began to wrap one of her long brown curls around her exposed ear. "Then we shall marry, my love. Day after tomorrow."


	22. Joined Unto Me

Chapter 22: Joined Unto Me  
Rating: G

"I've asked Lord Elrond to escort me down the aisle and stand with me as my second." Iris was in her guestroom with Ninniach. They were setting out Iris's wedding outfit onto the bed, taking inventory of what remained to be done before the ceremony. "Frodo has asked Gandalf to be his second. Normally it would have been Bilbo, but he has to officiate. This is going to be the strangest hobbit wedding ceremony in history,"

"I think it is delightful," Ninniach said as she shook out the wrinkles from an under blouse. "Rivendell has not hosted a joining ceremony in well over 500 years. In fact, I think the last one was our double wedding."

Iris paused. "You've been married for over 500 years?"

"I believe so, give or take a decade or two." The elf-maid continued to smooth out the garments. "Lothwing and I were joined with the twins in a double ceremony held in the gardens down by the main waterfall." She looked up in remembrance. "The draping trumpet vines and wild asparagus ferns were so lovely that year." She smiled. "Thank you for inviting the four of us to your ceremony. We are greatly honored to be included in such a small, august list of witnesses."

"If it wasn't for you and your sister, we would not be here for this occasion," Iris smiled. "And besides, we've become such good friends over the span of that month on the road." Iris again paused in her work. "We invited the Lady Galadriel as well as Glorfindel and your husbands. Frodo is still nervous around the Lady, though she has been nothing but nice to me. That is most uncharacteristic of Frodo. Is there something between them that I should know about?"

"Not that I am aware," Ninniach smoothly replied, "though the Lady of the Golden Wood is the most powerful person in Middle Earth, outside of Lord Mithrindir, of course. She has a way of disturbing people simply by looking at them. It was proper of you to invite her. But I hope she does not cause a disruption on your special day."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"I insist. You must have a traditional wedding crown. And I don't care if you neglected to bring one with you." Bilbo took Frodo by the arm and led him down a corridor into an out-of-the-way storage room. "See?" he said, spreading his arms wide and almost knocking a candelabra over with his cane. "There are plenty of supplies here for making one. The Elves are constantly doing artsy things. Just pick out a few items, put them together with the ribbons and there you go! You have a wedding crown. I'll even help you make it." Bilbo pulled out a stack of boxes and began to lay them out on the table.

"All right, all right," Frodo laughed. "The way you have jumped into this ceremony, one would think that YOU were getting married instead of me! Let me see what to select..." He rummaged through the supplies until he found the items which suited his fancy: white dried rose buds from the previous autumn to represent the white Baggins roses of Bag End; green fir sprigs for eternal love; thin midnight blue ribbons to match his vest. Bilbo carefully wrapped them all around a length of wire fitted into an oval. Frodo also selected two pale pink seashells and fastened them to his crown.

"Why the shells, my boy?" Bilbo asked.

"We came near to the sea when Sam and I were in Gondor," Frodo replied. "I could smell its sweet air and taste the salt. I fell in love with the feeling; with the song of the seabirds crying from the parapets of the city. I regret not traveling to the Sea, for its song has captured my imagination. I hope to someday to see it in person and recapture that special feeling."

"Ah," Bilbo nodded in understanding. "You hear the great music of the Sea in your heart. Most Elves also have this desire to go there. They can hear the song of creation in the crashing of the waves and the deep rolling of the tides. Or so they tell me. I have seen the Western Sea. Once... with your father. We were afraid to go down to it, for the Shire stories say it is the first path of the dead. But we gazed a long time upon its waves rolling onto the shore, and listened to the song of the wind and the air rushing across its vast deeps. I understand, Frodo. You should make it a point to go to the White Towers outside the West Farthing, and view the Sea for yourself."

"I shall be content with wearing these seashells for now," Frodo smiled. "I do need to borrow something from you though. I seem to have arrived without a proper handkerchief."

"Well, let's see what your old Uncle Bilbo can do about that," Bilbo smiled as they exited the storeroom.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Where in Middle Earth did you learn that braid?" Ninniach finished pinning an elaborate six-strand braid with a pale blue ribbon on top of Iris's head. It joined several other braids and happy blue and pale rose ribbons.

"Lothwing taught me," the elf-maiden replied. "She learned it from our mother's sister. We only use this style for special occasions. Your hair has proven a challenge, though," she said as she applied yet another pin to the ribbon.

"How so?" Iris asked. She had no idea what her hair looked like so far, but was confident it would be beautiful.

"Our hair is much smoother, finer, than yours. All these curls! How in the world do you untangle them?"

"I use a weak cider vinegar rinse," Iris replied. "That helps tremendously for dark hair. For lighter hair we hobbits use a lemon juice solution as a de-tangler and highlighter."

"Well, I am still having a time getting your curls to lay down properly," Ninniach said, frowning slightly. "They keep popping out all over the place."

Iris reached up and stayed the elf's hand. "Don't worry about it. My hair has a mind of its own. Let the curls go where they will. I am surprised you've managed to make such an elaborate construction using the tangles on my head."

Ninniach passed her the hand-held polished silver mirror. Iris was astounded at the intricate plats and ribbons. She hardly recognized what was atop her head as belonging to her. Then a curl popped out of place, reasserting its independence. Iris smiled. It would be fine. Ninniach handed her the various items Iris had also selected for her wedding crown. She slipped them into her coiffeur one at a time, intertwining them with the braids. Soft, young green yew branches. Newly appeared white snowdrop flowers and pale purple and yellow crocus gathered from the Rivendell gardens. Small sparkling crystal teardrops. All interwoven with blue and rose ribbons into Iris's brown braids.

Ninniach smiled and nodded her approval, then left to finish her own preparations. Iris was ready as the late afternoon sun dipped between the mountain peaks. A light rap at the door startled her reverie.

Lord Elrond appeared wearing a silky grey-green embroidered robe and his slender mithril crown. He had a small black velvet box in his hands. "For the bride."

Iris blushed at the unexpected generosity of her host. "Please open it now," the Elf prompted. Inside was a beautiful crystal bracelet which perfectly matched the diamond and silver necklace Frodo had given her as an engagement present. Iris could hardly speak a "thank you" as Elrond placed the bracelet about her wrist.

"I believe they are waiting for us," he whispered and offered her his arm.

The two walked down the corridor to the library where the ceremony was to take place. Word of the Ringbearer's wedding had spread throughout Imlandis, and even though very few people were invited to the ceremony itself, the Elves decorated all of Rivendell in honor of the Ringbearer's wedding. Elrond and Iris trod upon last season's dried rose petals scattered along their path. The lighted hallway sconces were decorated with fresh fir boughs tied together with blue and silver ribbons; little crystal teardrops tied to the tail of each ribbon. From every hallway came the clear, high sound of singing and flutes. From every doorway came smells of honeycomb candles and vanilla.

As they reached the library Iris could hear harp music softly playing from the back of the room. A cheerful blaze crackled in the fireplace. Multi-taper candlestick holders decorated with pale blue ribbons and dried white roses lighted up the room. She could see Bilbo seated on a low stool placed slightly to the right of the fireplace. He was wearing his best gold-button dark green suit and formal maroon ascot, and looked quite dapper. To his left stood Gandalf, wearing his now-normal dazzling white robe and carrying his wizard's staff. He had added a single white rose to the top of his staff. It glowed faintly.

To Bilbo's right stood the Lady Galadriel, wearing a dress of finest pearl grey and her mithril crown. The other five elves, Glorfindel, Elrohir, Lothwing, Elladan and Ninniach, were standing to either side of the trio. Iris noted all this later, as her eyes were instantly drawn to the figure awaiting her.

Frodo stood at the terminus of the embroidered carpet runner leading down the entire length of the library. His back was towards the central fireplace. Every nerve was at attention, neck held high, hands clasped behind his back in obvious excitement. She was coming. He could feel it.

Elrond and Iris appeared at the back of the room, her arms lightly resting upon his supportive elbow. Iris almost gasped aloud upon seeing Frodo's figure outlined against the fire glow, dark curls bedecked with white rose buds and greenery, thin midnight blue ribbons peaking out from his hair and softly draping across his shoulders. The white of the dried roses and seashells picked up the brightness of the candles on either side of the fireplace, contrasting with the darkness of Frodo's raven curls, lending a slight halo effect and emphasizing his bright blue eyes.

Frodo was wearing the infamous midnight blue paisley vest under his best deep maroon jacket and breeches set, accented with a brilliant white shirt. He had previously asked Iris for permission to wear the vest, as he knew she was planning on wearing the matching midnight blue paisley print dress he had commissioned for her. She had finally relented on her stance about not wearing the two outfits at the same time, as this is a special occasion and was appropriate. This made Frodo very happy, for some reason inexplicable to Iris's understanding. She knew he also wore the gem Arwen had given him in Minas Tirith, but kept it hidden under his shirt out of respect for Elrond's grief.

His bride wore a light rose colored under blouse beneath the midnight blue dress. Frodo could see pale rose and blue ribbons braided throughout her hair, as well as fragrant fresh evergreen sprigs and tiny snowbells and crocus flowers peaking out from wayward curls. The crystals in her hair and around her wrist sparkled thousands of brilliant rainbows as she passed each candelabra. The pendant he had given her gleamed softly between the slight cleavage of the outfit. His mouth parted slightly, bedazzled by his bride's beauty. Gandalf lightly touched him on the shoulder, and he snapped back into his formal composure.

Bilbo stood upon seeing the bride. The small group of friends bowed in respect as Iris and Elrond advanced up the carpet runner to stand before the ancient hobbit. The Lord of Rivendell turned and bowed deeply to his student, passed her hands into Frodo's outstretched ones, and took his place between Bilbo and Galadriel. The rest of the elves gathered in close, forming an intimate circle around the couple.

Bilbo smiled and winked at Iris and Frodo. "Greetings friends and family. We are gathered here for a very, very special occasion which brings great joy to me and to all Middle Earth. The union of two into one. The creation of a new family and the continuation of a tradition which stretches back into the starlight before time. Frodo? Iris? Please step forward."

Still holding each other's hands, the two hobbits moved closer. Bilbo turned to Gandalf, who handed him a long white cloth embroidered with an apple tree in the center. Bilbo placed the cloth across their clasped hands, tying a loose knot around them.

Bilbo cleared his throat and began the well-known Shire joining ceremony.

"Frodo. It is time. State your name, your heritage, your titles and your intentions before this assemblage."

Frodo turned to face Iris. She became lost in his brilliant blue eyes and his steady voice.

"I, Frodo Baggins, a hobbit of the Shire, son of Drogo Baggins and Primula Brandybuck Baggins, heir of Bilbo Baggins, Ringbearer, representative of hobbits at the Council of Elrond, member of the Fellowship of the Nine Walkers, Elf-Friend, named Blessed of the Dwarves, Councilor to King Elessar of Gondor and Arnor, honorary knight of Edoras and councilor to King Eomer of Rohan, owner of Bag End and its associated farms, historian and retired Deputy Mayor of Hobbiton, do hereby state my intention to wed Iris Proudfoot, if she will have me."

He smiled slightly, relieved that he hadn't stumbled over any of the words. He could feel his hands sweating as the nervousness of the situation made itself manifest physically. Iris smiled and squeezed his hands lightly under the wedding cloth.

Bilbo turned to her. "Iris. It is time. State your name, your heritage, your titles and your intentions before this assemblage."

She could not take her green eyes off her beloved. The words came from somewhere deep inside her heart.

"I, Iris Proudfoot of the South Farthing, daughter of Rungo Proudfoot and Nandine Boffin Proudfoot, physician and healer, student of Lord Elrond Half-Elvin of Rivendell, owner of the Hobbiton Physician's Offices, do hereby state my intention to wed Frodo Baggins, if he will have me."

Frodo secretly squeezed her hand and broke into a beatific smile. She winked at him, then they turned to face the celebrant.

"So it has been said. So it has been witnessed. So it shall be done." Bilbo solemnly intoned, then smiled. "I have prepared some words of wisdom for your union, but coming from a life-long bachelor, I'm not sure if you should follow my advice or not." This brought a slight chuckle from Gandalf.

"Pay no attention to this wizard," Bilbo replied without looking at his friend. "He's never been married either."

Even the Elves chucked at the good-natured banter. Bilbo settled them down again by clearing his throat.

"I will repeat the advice I gave to you, Frodo my lad, so many years ago, when you were growing up in Bag End," Bilbo smiled. "I do hope both of you find them applicable as you travel down this new road together."

"Show respect to all your fellow beings.  
Render assistance and kindness wherever needed; whenever needed.  
Be truthful and honest in all things.  
Do what you know to be right no matter the consequences.  
Look after the well being of mind, body and spirit.  
Treat the earth and they that dwell thereon with respect.  
Take full responsibility for your actions.  
Dedicate a share of your efforts to the greater good.  
And work together for the benefit of all."

Gandalf stole a sly glance at Lord Elrond. The Elf-Lord raised an eyebrow and nodded in quiet appreciation at the wisdom of the ancient hobbit. "Well spoken, Master Bilbo," he said.

"Now it is your turn, my friend," Bilbo said to the Elf-lord. "Frodo? Iris? I hope you do not mind, but I have asked your doubles to add their own blessings as proxies for those in the Shire who would have been at your sides. My Lord Elrond?"

The stately Elf-Lord moved before the couple and raised his elegant fingers over their curly heads. The Lady Galadriel quietly moved behind the Lord of Rivendell, her own jewel-encrusted hands also raised in blessing. The twin lights of their two Elvish Rings of Power caught the candlelight and multiplied it a thousand times over.

"Beloved. Beloved. With one simple word  
the twain become one and their music is heard;  
Each half united and blessing conferred,  
Within and beyond each one's birth.

I Windi, I Mordo forever in bliss;  
Inaureoled within a soft kiss;  
The Valar are sighing forever for this;  
Iluvitar born upon earth.

Be kind and be gentle, be strong and be true.  
Hold fast to the brightness within each of you.  
I Nenya, I Vilya, I Narya heru,  
With kindness and wisdom and mirth."

[ Maiden and hero, the three Elvish Rings of Power representing air, water and fire respectively, heru = to rule]

The two imposing elves moved back into their assigned places, to be replaced by the white-robed figure of the Wizard. He passed his staff to Bilbo and solemnly placed one hand on Frodo's head; the other on Iris's. All music stopped, and a clear, red light seemed to glow from Gandalf's hands as he began:

"May the grace of the Valar rest upon this union.  
Manwe Sulimo, lord of Arda and King of all Kings, support thee and watch over thee whereso thy road leads.  
Varda Elbereth, Lady of the Eternal Stars, grace thee with light everlasting.  
May Ulmo, Lord of the Waters, ordain thy paths and bring thee to thy home near the sea.  
May Aule, he who blesses with skill and knowledge, support thy hands in all their good works.  
Yavanna Kementari, Queen of the Earth, cause thy union to be fruitful in all the ways of thy desire.  
May Namo, also called Mandos the final judge, bring thee wisdom to discern the weavings of Vaire his wife, the keeper of time.  
Irmo Lorien, master of visions and dreams, and his wife, gentle Este, protect thee during sleep.  
May Tulkas Astaldo the Valiant bless thee with strength and vigor.  
May Nessa the fleet footed teach thy feet to dance with joyful abandon.  
Orome, Lord of the Forests, provide thee with all thy needs and wants.  
And Vana the Everyoung, bestow upon thee flowers and song birds.  
Osse bring thee sweet songs of laughter and friendship.  
And last, but foremost in her thoughts for thee, may Nienna, Lady of Sorrows and Pity, continue to pour out unto thee her gifts most precious: wisdom, strength of spirit, and endurance in hope.  
May all the Valar bless this union until such time you accept the final gift of Eru himself and walk the paths appointed to mortals."

Though the hobbits could not see what was happening, in unison all the elves placed one hand over their heart and bowed deeply. For Frodo and Iris, their gaze was filled with a soft, comforting light. Trambeams flowed like ribbons of molten glass, sparkling with the blessing of a thousand million stars. Time ceased to have meaning until the Wizard withdrew his hands from their heads, and they could see again with normal vision.

Bilbo waited a moment, then handed Gandalf's staff back to him as the Wizard returned to his place at the hobbit's side. The celebrant untied the loose knot and draped the wedding cloth around the couple's shoulders.

"Well, my blessings aren't as grand as a Wizard's," Bilbo turned to acknowledge Gandalf. "Nor as metrical and lyrical as an Elf's," turning to wink at Elrond. "But they come from the heart of a very old hobbit." A little tear sparkled in his ancient eyes as he beheld the two before him. "And evidently a sentimental one as well." He sniffled and patted around for his handkerchief, forgetting he had loaned it to his heir.

Frodo quickly retrieved the handkerchief from his pocket and gave it back to his Uncle. Bilbo dabbed at his eyes, put the kerchief in his waistcoat pocket and cleared his throat.

"May the blessing of light be upon your love. Light on the outside. Light on the inside.

May your love glow with warmth like a hearth fire that welcomes friends and strangers alike.

May love shine from your eyes like a candle in the window, welcoming the weary traveler.

May the blessing of soft rain be upon your love, falling gently into your hand, refreshing your soul with the sweetness of little flowers fresh blooming.

May the strength of the winds be with your love, carrying the rain to wash your spirit clean and sparkling as night in starlight.

And may the blessing of the earth be upon your love as you walk the roads of life, nourishing you as strong roots nourish all growing things."

A tear slipped from Frodo's eyes. Iris tightened her grip as they held hands, and felt the strength returned. Frodo quietly wiped the tear away with the back of his hand. Iris sniffed as a tear of her own loost itself from her damp lashes.

Bilbo noticed and handed her the much-used handkerchief. "You two are as full of mush as I am," he half-grumbled. "Pass it back to Frodo when you're through."

The entire company started chuckling, releasing the emotional tension which had been building throughout the ceremony.

"Well...." Bilbo said after Frodo handed him back the handkerchief, "guess I better get this over and done with before we all melt into a puddle of tears. You've my blessing, my boy. Kiss your bride."

It was brief. A mere pressing of lips together. It was formal. But the kiss foreshadowed treasures to be shared later. Bilbo called Galadriel to bring out the broom. She retrieved a highly-decorated simple straw broom from beside the fireplace, as well as a worn wooden box.

"Master Bilbo, please pardon my intrusion into your celebration," Galadriel said, "but Doctor Proudfoot arranged for this to be presented to you at this moment in the ceremony." She handed the old hobbit the little wooden box.

"That's the box Galadriel gave Sam, isn't it?" Frodo whispered to Iris.

She nodded, then turned to address Bilbo as he opened it. "Sam and Rose gave it to me to have at this point in the wedding. It's a surprise for Frodo."

Bilbo looked up a bit puzzled. "It's dirt. Dirt and dried rose petals."

"Both from Bag End," Iris continued. "Sam said it was only right that our first steps together should be on the good earth of the Shire. So he sent some. Rose added the Baggins white rose petals for prosperity."

"Good head on his shoulders, that Samwise lad," Bilbo said as he scattered the earth onto the carpet runner. "He'll make a fine Mayor some day."

Bilbo instructed Gandalf to hold one end of the broom and Elrond the other. The two tall beings had to kneel down to lower the broom for the laughing hobbits. Frodo and Iris held hands and jumped the broom together to cheers and smiles all around. Bilbo started applauding the happy couple as they stood upon the Shire earth. The Elves were not quite sure what to do, but added their own light clapping to Bilbo's in order to seem polite at the quaint hobbit customs. The harpist began a sprightly tune indicating the ceremony had ended. Everyone congratulated the couple and retired to the dining room where a feast was set up.

It was not the raucous celebration of most typical hobbit weddings, but a rather somber dinner Elf-style, with off-stage harp and vocal music continuing. Iris was a bit uncomfortable with the high-brow entertainment and formal service, but Frodo felt right at home, having endured numerous dinners at this very table during his Quest.

Bilbo stood on his chair and pounded the table with his cane. All eyes turned to him. He cleared his throat as the music subsided. "My Lord Glorfindel. It is time. I demand payment of the poem you owe me, old friend."

The elegant Elf rose to meet his accuser, as the laughter died away and more wine was brought to the table. "I have been working on this for a month, and am reluctant to present my token before the judgment of this august literary crowd." There was laughter at the ancient Elf-Lord's evident distress. "Yet, I have completed my task, to the best of my abilities, which I must admit, are mightily humbled at Master Bilbo's expertise." More laughter followed. The grey-eyed elf clasped his hands behind his back and proceeded:

"An elf-maid of spring water flowing,  
Would look in the mirror of knowing.  
Young Bilbo was there,  
his sword proud in the air  
But knew not if twas coming or going."

It didn't scan perfectly, but it was slightly naughty, much to Bilbo's enjoyment. Everyone roared in laughter. Bilbo set a new challenge for the best limerick using the names "Frodo" and "Iris", to be completed and recited at lunch the next day. Iris blushed and asked that the guests refrain from making the limerick too "naughty" seeing as it was her wedding night. This also elicited a round of laughter and it was Frodo's turn to blush.

As the music restarted, Frodo asked Iris to dance. An area of the hall was left available for dancing, and the twins and their wives soon joined the hobbits on the dance floor. Iris was delighted when they changed partners and continued the dance.

Gandalf leaned over and whispered to Galadriel, "I notice the servers change constantly; no two serving consecutively."

"Lord Elrond has granted the wish of his staff," she explained. "All desired to be allowed to serve the Ringbearer and his guests at some point during the festivities. They are taking turns."

Gandalf smiled at the Elf-Lord's wisdom, compassion and subtlety. He put down his drink and got up to dance with Iris, leaving Galadriel seated with Elrond.

The Lord of Rivendell and the Lady of the Golden Wood watched the dancers. "These hobbits are like stained glass windows," he said to her. "They shine fresh and rather gaudy while the sun is out. Only when darkness sets in is their true beauty fully revealed. They have a light from within which can withstand the darkness. I shall miss them when we leave."

"He has fully decided to not go with us then?" Galadriel asked.

"He is staying," Elrond replied. "He knows the consequences, yet he chooses to stay. A remarkable and surprising race."

"He carries the mark of a Valar," Galadriel said. "Long, long ago, at the springtime of the Eldar, I studied at the feet of Aule. It is a marvel to me that this hobbit has learned something directly from one of the Valar, and yet lives. For I know at what price such knowledge comes. Frodo has within him a great knowledge which only one of the Noldor or a Maia or a Valar can help him release. This will not happen if he stays in Middle Earth. He must come to Tol Eressea with us, or that knowledge will be lost to the Eldar forever. It is what is killing him."

"He refused your help when he was ill with it this past episode," Elrond said. "His mind is set. He will not go. And now is not the time to bring it up. Our moment has passed. Leave him to his decision and trouble him no more, I beg of you. Let him have the happiness he has chosen."

Galadriel took a sip of wine. "It has been placed within my heart to desire this knowledge. When I first met him in Lothlorien the mark was already forming. Now it is full-grown." She turned to regard Elrond. "Yet will I abstain. Not for your asking, though you plead from your heart. But I do this because he wants it. I will go into the West, and leave my own knowledge incomplete willingly, for his sake."


	23. Wedding Night

Chapter 23: Wedding Night

Rating: R / NC-17 (off-site) (het. Sex)

R-rated section:

Bilbo was dozing in an overstuffed easy chair pulled up next to the fire, a soft grey wool blanket tucked around his legs and feet. It was well past his normal bedtime; the crescent moon high overhead in the crystalline air. The combination of fine wine, excellent food, a joyous occasion where he was the celebrant, dancing and conversations with old friends; all led to the overwhelming need for sleep. A lone female Elf harper played soft lullabies to the elderly hobbit, sending him along unconscious paths to the dream gardens of forgotten innocent childhood play.

Gandalf had settled into a matching easy chair next to Bilbo. His eyes were closed, but he was not asleep. The elves were deep into Sindarian songs and thick, red wine. Glorfindel had begun singing "The Tale of The Moon and the Sun," his fine strong baritone lifting and sighing the words and melody to the epic poem. Frodo knew the recitation would last for many hours. He took Iris by the hand, secretly stroking the inside of her palm. She smiled and nodded. They bowed to their hosts and retired for the evening.

Candles lighted every hallway and corridor of the immense Rivendell campus. Scents wafted along the light Spring air; each area hosting its own fragrance as if to tempt them inside. But Frodo was not leading her towards the interior of the buildings. After following a gently sloping pathway, they exited the architecture and entered the moonlit Rivendell statue gardens close by some waterfalls. The icy-cold spray splashed happily, making primordial music to compliment and underscore the faint sounds of Glorfindel's singing coming from the brightness of the main building.

It seemed to Iris that the warmth of Spring was lingering longer this night than had happened since they had arrived. The mountain air which normally chilled quickly at the setting of the Springtime sun stayed warm and relaxed in the gloaming and moonlight. Frodo and Iris wandered along carefully-tended tiny smooth pebble walkways through the moonlit sculpture gardens by a series of smaller waterfalls winding their way beside their larger cousins.

It was too early in the season for night-blooming jasmine or moonflowers. Yet the Elves had forced into bloom crowds of pristine white narcissus and paperwhites planted in pots and rooted in crystal vases. These out-of-season blooms they tenderly transplanted from the nurseries into the gardens explicitly for this special night. The flower heads danced and bobbed in the gentle air.

Whilst there was yet snow and ice on the borders of the great house of Imlandis, Spring had triumphed over Winter this evening. Warm breezes kept the chill outside air at bay. As Frodo and Iris wandered the solitary pathways, soft luminous flames of many colors flickered and danced in the gloom.

"What are those?" Iris whispered, afraid that too loud a sound might frighten away the fay luminous bodies. "It's far too early for fireflies. They are not lanterns either. They move and fly about."

Frodo stopped and held out his hand, palm up. One of the flickering lights, a soft cornflower blue, danced through the air until it hovered over his fingers. It was in the shape of a butterfly, though the one setting upon Iris's hand was more like unto a dragonfly. She could see another one close by in the appearance of a hummingbird. The hobbits did not touch the flames as they darted from one place to another. Their glow added a soft pastel radiance to the pale crescent moon's light.

"They are Gandalf's gift," Frodo smiled. He pulled Iris into his embrace and kissed her in the magical dance of light. Iris couldn't suppress a giggle as a rather loud firework went off into the clear night air between the mountains as their kiss ended.

"That was Gandalf too, I gather," she said. "I do hope he doesn't follow us into the bedroom, or the whole complex will be set ablaze."

Frodo laughed aloud. "We might do that anyway all on our own." The fireworks continued for several minutes as the hobbits passed through the garden. They wandered through carefully tended deep woods where the mists of the icy waterfalls almost enveloped the moss-covered statuary. Stones seemed to dance and sway to their own internal rhythm, mindless of the two small mortals who strolled in delight amongst the maidenhead ferns and newly-sprung daffodillies. Green, golden and pale purple fireworks continued to light up the midnight sky.

Frodo plucked a white snowdrop from a rocky crevice and tucked it behind his ear. Iris took its mate and placed it between her breasts, teasing him to see if he would dare retrieve it in public, even though she knew they were alone.

"Don't they have a lovely smell?" she teased. "Come. Taste their honey."

He caught her to himself in a tight embrace and nuzzled her ear. She could feel his hardness pressed against her. "I would take you right here; right now; if not for the guards," his voice husky in the shadows.

"Guards?"

"Imlandis has always been the last defense of the Elves against the evil of the world," Frodo whispered. "Even now there are guards protecting us. You might not notice them, but they are there." Frodo released her after a tender kiss. "Let's go to my room," he whispered as they finally abandoned the garden to the fireworks and mists.

"Somebody's been here," Iris said as Frodo opened the door to his apartment. Candles were lighted and a cheerful fire of fragrant maple danced on the grate. More pots of blooming paperwhites and golden daffodillies had been set up throughout the room, lending their subtle fresh fragrance to the honey of the beeswax candles. A silver tray holding a carafe of golden wine, two crystal and silver goblets, and delectable finger foods sat on the table.

"Now don't you be expecting this sort of service every day back in the Shire, Mister Baggins," Iris joked as she went over to the dressing table. "Goodness! They've even moved all my things in here."

True enough, all her belongings had been transferred from her guest room into Frodo's larger suite. She sat down at the dresser and began to remove the myriad of decorations from her curly brown hair. Frodo came up behind her and removed his own wedding crown, setting it on the dressing table next to her brush.

"Ummm..." Iris sighed in relief, "that feels better." A braid tumbled down her back, freed at last from its forced place in her coiffeur. Frodo helped her remove the flowers, crystals and ribbons. His firm, delicate fingers deftly removed each item. He kissed her ear or neck or cheek as he lay each decoration upon the dresser. "Ah," Iris sighed as the last of the braids was freed. "I have a hair-ache."

"A hair-ache?" Frodo asked. He ran his fingers into her loose curls and began to massage her scalp.

Iris closed her eyes and surrendered into the bliss of his touch. "Yes. I get a hair-ache if my hair is braided too tightly or if it's forced to go in a different direction than nature intended. But it goes away in a few minutes after letting the curls free." She sighed in contentment at the sensuousness of the massage. She actually lost track of time relaxing into his strong hands after the excitement of the day. Iris came to when he stopped the massage and bent down to kiss her lips.

She stood and snuggled into his ready arms. They kissed, and her desire for him rose sharp and sure as a surge of fire through her body. Mouths parted and tongues teased as hands explored each other's curves, suddenly eager to throw off the clothes which separated them. She wanted desperately to taste every part of him. To feel with her sensitive fingers and delicate mouth every inch of him. And she equally desired his exploration of her own body and soul. To be joined with him in that defining moment gifted to mortals when two become one and time looses its hold upon the flesh.

"Ah, wait a moment," Frodo pleaded. "I have something for you before we get too carried away." He dashed over to a wardrobe and retrieved a small package encased in white tissue paper and tied together with a ribbon made from the same midnight blue paisley fabric used in their wedding outfits.

Iris shook her head in amazement. "If I live to be older than the Bullroarer I'll never understand your fascination with that fabric," she clucked.

"Open it," he smiled, going over to the side table and pouring them some of the golden wine.

Iris carefully untied the ribbon. Out from the tissue paper emerged the most sensual piece of clothing she had ever seen. She held it up to the light and was startled to find that it was an almost see-though gown. It had long sleeves and a low, low scooped back and front. The skirt was attached and flared out at the hips, softly swaying into large pleats. A little card fell to the floor. Iris retrieved it and was not surprised to find that the negligee had come from Mistress Chiswell's establishment.

"It's beautiful!" she gasped, "but I don't think I'll be able to wear this anywhere in public."

He brought her the full goblet and winked. "You are not supposed to. Try it on for me, love," he asked, sipping his wine.

"Not until you've opened my gift," Iris replied, carefully placing the gown on the bed and going to the dressing table. She returned with a tightly-capped green bottle.

"What is it?" Frodo asked, setting down his goblet and twisting the stopper open. The exotic fragrance of honey and strong spices wafted into the air.

"I had Tandy make you a new perfume," Iris blushed.

"I think I have smelled those spices before, but I cannot remember where or when," Frodo said.

Iris unbuttoned his white shirt and placed a drop of the oil in the hollow of his throat. It mingled with his own natural scent to become even more exotic and erotic. Iris caressed his throat, moving in closer to feel and smell his sweetness and desire. She was going to kiss his pendulant lips, but he stopped her.

"Come on... tell me what the secret ingredient is," he whispered. Before she had a chance to reply he took the initiative and covered her mouth with his. His hands moved behind her to loosen the bodice ribbons. The kiss was heavy and long and tasted of wine and spices all rolled together. When they finally separated, both were lost in the rapture, arms exploring each other through the fabric of their wedding outfits.

"It was Sam," Iris almost moaned at loosing his lips. "I bartered with Sam for a few ounces of those exotic spices from Ithilien you received in the chest from King Aragorn." She was almost lost in his look. Those eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes. She would confess anything to remain in his arms. To remain by his side. "Tandy worked for a long time to make this perfume," she finally stammered out.

Iris removed Frodo's waistcoat and let it fall to the floor about his ankles. Her inquisitive fingers found the nightingale embroidered on his vest before she unbuttoned and removed it, letting it also fall to the floor. Frodo undressed her in return, lingering over the nightingales embroidered on the ribbons of her bodice. They laughed over the secret embroidery, Iris finally confessing to her delight at his sentimentality.

Iris grabbed the filmy negligee. "Turn around, Mr. Baggins," she demanded. "I'll tell you when you can look again."

"As you wish, Mrs. Baggins," he chuckled, and did as he was bid. He was still wearing his white shirt and breeches. The maroon pants did nothing to hide his growing erection. He took another sip of the wine and reached inside his breeches, lightly stroking himself in anticipation. But he did not have long to wait before he was summoned.

"Frodo? Do you think this is too tight?" Iris called out. Frodo almost choked on the wine when he saw her modeling the gown for him in the candlelight.

It clung to her arms, torso and hips like a second skin, completely covering her, yet totally revealing everything hidden within its filmy embrace. The long sleeves came to a point across the back of her hand, held in place with a little loop around the middle finger. The low scooped neckline in front emphasized her cleavage, and the very low back profile almost showed cleavage there as well. The full length skirt almost touched the floor, stopping just short of covering the curly light brown hair on her toes. It cinched in at the waist, drawn tight with a thin white ribbon. The outfit showed off every curve, every dip and mound. The rose hues of her arousal and the ivory of her smooth skin were clearly visible under the almost-transparent fabric.

She twirled around before the fire, dancing and spinning so that the pleats of the outfit flared out to reveal her legs and ankles. Frodo laughed in delight, caught her hand and joined her in the dance. The twirling gradually slowed into tightly-held circles around each other. Iris coyly unbuttoned the ivory closures of his white shirt, exposing his alabaster chest to the golden firelight and her strong caresses as he held onto her waist.

His hands explored the fabric of the clingy dress, seeking out and finding the myriad curves awaiting his eager touch. He would never be able to tell when it was they stopped dancing and simply pressed themselves against each other, breathing in the perfume and musk rising from their bodies like incense before a shrine.

The negligee was off and so were the rest of his clothes before Frodo realized how insatiable his desire had become. He was open and full and ready to take this creature of silken curves and warm, firm flesh. He was astounded at her utter delight in the way he explored her curves: now with his hot mouth; now with his slender fingers; now with his probing hardness. They both writhed and moaned in the heat of their pleasures. Giving and receiving each other as their desire led them to couple until there was no more "I" or "You", but only "Mine!"

The candles were sputtering haphazardly when they finally relaxed into each other's embrace. How they had ended up on top of the bed, Iris was not sure. But she was utterly content, holding her beloved in her arms and insisting that his weight was a comfort and not a burden.

"Please, please stay inside me," she whispered into his ear. "Don't leave."

"I won't until I have to," he chuckled. "But you and I both know that a fifty year old hobbit does not have the ... um... staying power of a tweenager. Let me rest a couple of hours before we try this again, my love."

"Oh, you!" Iris laughed and ran her fingernails down his side.

Frodo twitched and giggled at the tickling, yet managed to remain inside his wife. But only barely. "If you laugh again, you will push me out and it will be your fault, not mine," he whispered into her ear, then deliberately licked it.

"Ah!" That was all it took. They both rolled onto their backs, unable to suppress their delight and laughter. Another candle winked out. Frodo rolled out of bed and retrieved the robe Bilbo had loaned him. Iris crawled under the covers while Frodo stoked the fire and extinguished the remaining lighted candles. He refreshed their goblets with the remaining wine and brought it back to bed.

"To my lovely and quite talented wife," he said, raising his glass before his face and winking. Iris blushed and raised her own glass.

"To my beloved," she whispered. The sparkling wine only made her tongue all the more eager to taste his pleasures again and again. His eyes twinkled a deep midnight blue in the firelight. They finished the wine and snuggled in each other's arms, safe and secure in the bed. The only sound Iris could hear as she drifted off to sleep was the soothing sound of the numerous waterfalls busy with the Spring thaw. The fireworks and music had ended sometime during the night, but neither Frodo nor Iris had noticed.

NC-17 SECTION

A.N. For the NC-17 continuation of this chapter, please go to FrodoBaggins1982's Bag End Collection website. Thank you. - Tulip


	24. Living Arrangements

Chapter 24: Living Arrangements  
Rating: G

March 19th

The sun shone fair on the sparkling waterfalls that spring morning. Tiny bluebirds and reddish-brown finches trilled into the bright light as the company readied to leave. Gandalf, Elrohir and Elladan patiently waited beside their mounts in the quiet courtyard of Rivendell beside the archway over the dirt path leading down to the Ford of Bruinen. Frodo and Iris waited next to their already-burdened ponies. Bilbo stood next to Lord Elrond, leaning on his favorite brass-capped cane and trying to not break into tears.

"Will I see you for our birthday, my boy?" Bilbo asked in a quiet, rather sad voice as he straightened up Frodo's pack straps and lovingly brushed his gnarled fingers over Frodo's fair cheeks.

"Very likely," Frodo smiled and gently kissed his uncle's hand. "Why don't you try to celebrate with me at Bag End this year? It is on the way to the Havens. It will be like old times, Bilbo. You and me at Bag End again. Only this time I shall provide the presents and you will get to celebrate with Iris and Sam and Rose and their baby."

"Ah, Frodo-lad," Bilbo sighed; a tearful smile trembling on his thin lips. "You and your young bride don't need pamper an old adventurer like me. Make your own adventures without the likes of me."

"I would still love to see you before you leave," Frodo whispered through his tight throat. There was a good chance this was the last time he might ever see Bilbo.

"Then look for us when the wanderlust strikes," Lord Elrond said as he placed a comforting hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "When frost is on the haystacks and the maples turn gold. We shall see you then, my friend."

Bilbo kissed Iris and blew his nose on his much-used blue handkerchief. "Farewell, but not goodbye then, my dear. Look for us in the fall."

oooooooooooooooooo

This time the return journey was quite uneventful. The smaller party traveled openly, the elves with their bows and swords at the ready at all times and Gandalf with staff at hand. "No need to conceal your identity this time, my friend," Gandalf said as they made camp the first night away from Rivendell. "There will be no surprises along the road, Lord Elrond guarantees."

Frodo looked askance at the wizard. "How can he guarantee that?" The thought of more Men looking to fill their purses with the reward for his head was never far from Frodo's mind.

"My lord Glorfindel is abroad," Elladan softly spoke. "And he has organized many bows. Though most of my people will soon depart Middle Earth, some of us choose to remain awhile longer and repay our debt to the race of the halflings. We have taken up the mantle of the Dunedain and will guard well the Shire and the East Road until Arnor is reestablished." He lighted the fire and bowed to the two hobbits and the wizard. "Rest easy, Ringbearer and Beloved. You are well guarded from this day forth."

The company made excellent time and arrived on the eastern outskirts of Bree on April 7th. As they rounded the little hill and emerged from the woods, Frodo heard a familiar voice. "Hello! Hello there! Gosh it's good to see you Mr. Frodo."

Much to Frodo's surprise, it was Sam. He stood at the latch to the Eastern Gate of Bree and Merry sat atop the gate itself, his legs swinging back and forth.

"Told you they would make it back today," Merry smugly said as he tapped out his pipe and nimbly dismounted the gate. "You owe me a bushel of apples, Sam, and I better not find one rotten one amongst them. Greetings, Mr. Gandalf, sir. And to you, my most noble lords."

Sam took hold of the pony's reigns as Frodo and Iris dismounted. Gandalf and the twins remained on horseback. Gandalf's eyes crinkled in amusement at the reunion. "Well met, Captain Brandybuck."

"I told you we would be back in mid-April," Frodo laughed, then hugged his friend tightly. "Sam, why are you in Bree?"

"What about Rose and the baby?" Iris asked. Merry opened the gate and saluted the watchkeeper as they passed through and slipped into Bree.

"Well now, my little girl was born on the 25th," Sam beamed. "Her name's Elanor. We named her after that pretty little golden flower what grows in the Lady's land, Mr. Frodo. You remember?"

"Aye, Sam, I remember," Frodo smiled.

"Everyone's just fine," Sam continued. "Mistress Hornblower, the midwife, she says my Rose is built for birthing lots and lots of children. Little Elly is as pretty as any hobbit child has ever been, and that's not just me saying so. Hair the color of palest spun gold and eyes...well, eyes as blue as yours, if not more so. Sleeps only four hours between feedings, but she and Mummy are settling into a routine finally. And Rose, well, to put it bluntly, um, she kicked me out."

Merry laughed. "Rose said Sam was making her and the baby nervous with all his sighing and muttering about crazy hobbits going off into danger in the snow and whatnot. Kicked 'em out so she could get some sleep."

They made their way to the Prancing Pony. Merry led them all back behind the inn to the stables. Gandalf finally dismounted, but the elves remained in their saddles.

"You're leaving then?" Merry asked. They nodded. "One quick question before you go, if you don't mind. The Bree patrol found five dead men on the East Road two days after you left back in February. Well, they found the remains of five men and some spent arrows. The patrol also found a warning written in Elvish posted to a tree near the remains. It said that anyone found harming a halfling would meet a similar fate. Would you happen to know anything about this?"

The twins looked at each other, neither saying a word.

Gandalf placed a hand on Merry's shoulder. "I would trust that message, Captain Brandybuck. It seems the East Road and wildlands between Bree and Rivendell, and perhaps even up the Hedge around the Old Forest, are all under guard once more. I would expect more traffic along the East Road as the Elves migrate through the Shire and on to the Grey Havens."

Merry smiled and saluted the Elves. "Good hunting, sirs."

"We take our leave of you now, Mithrandir. Ringbearer. Doctor. We return to Imladris," Elrohir said. "May your paths lead you to quiet waters and the stars guide your feet."

"Thank you for all you have done, most fair and blessed of Arda," Frodo said. "I shall see your lord in the autumn."

"Please thank Lothwing and Ninniach for their kindness show me," Iris quietly said and bowed low. The twins turned their mounts and disappeared into the gathering darkness.

The next day was fair and fine for traveling. Merry and Sam rode their ponies, and the journey from Bree to Crickethollow was cheerful and unhurried. They passed a couple of hobbit pony carts loaded to overflowing with produce on their way to Bree. Merry verified that commerce between Buckland and Bree had resumed, much to everyone's satisfaction. But Men, even Breelanders, were still turned away at the Brandywine Bridge.

The little round green door of Bag End never looked so inviting as when Frodo and Iris arrived the next day. The Gaffer answered the bells. "Why, it's Mister Baggins and Miss Proudfoot come back!" Gaffer said as he hugged Sam.

"That's Mr. and Mrs. Baggins, Da," Sam corrected. "They jumped the broom while out in Rivendell."

"'Bout time, young Master Frodo," Gaffer said. He wagged an arthritic forefinger at Frodo. "Now get ye some bairns like my Sammie here. Children's for taking care of ye when you're old like me. You could learn a thing or two by following in me boy's example concerning the ladies and babies."

"Da!" Sam blushed. "Don't talk to Mr. Frodo like that! Sorry Miss Iris." Sam hustled his father back inside the smial. "Come on Da. Let's go see if Elanor remembers me."

Gandalf was introduced to Lily Cotton, who was at Bag End helping her only daughter take care of infant Elanor. With the arrival of Frodo, Iris, Sam and Gandalf, Bag End seemed suddenly crowded. Rose proudly displayed Elanor to the assembled crowd.

'Samwise Gamgee was right,' Gandalf thought as the baby was being passed around. 'She is the loveliest hobbit child I've ever seen.'

"I'll be getting on back to the farm, Rose," Lily said, handing her granddaughter over to Iris who stood next to the wizard. "I'll come round in a couple of days to spoil the baby some more. You'll be staying for awhile then, Mr. Gandalf?"

"For a couple of days, and then I'm off again," the wizard said, deftly moving his white beard out of the way of the infant's grasping hands.

Iris laughed as Elanor burbled and showed her gummy mouth in pleasure. Rose came over to reclaim her daughter. "Let's go into the living room," she said, taking Iris by the hand. "It's so good to have you home! I've missed you so much. I need to have some serious girl talk."

Sam was busy helping Frodo unload the three ponies and move the gear into Frodo's old bedroom. The Gaffer showed Gandalf to his guest bedroom, carrying the wizard's staff out at arm's length as if it might sprout a snake's head and bite him at any moment. Gandalf winked at Frodo as he passed by in the hallway, amusement at the Gaffer's distress written all over his ancient face.

Once they were all settled into their respective rooms, Sam and Rose prepared supper in the kitchen. After the meal, the two hobbitesses took the baby and retired to the living room again. "More girl talk!" Iris called over her shoulder to Frodo.

"Can I help clean up?" Frodo asked Sam.

"No, no. Gaffer and me will do the washing up, Mister Frodo," Sam said as he and his father moved the dirty dishes to the sink. "You and Mr. Gandalf go enjoy a pipe. We'll join you shortly."

"Shall we go outside?" Frodo asked the wizard.

"I would appreciate being able to stand up without bumping into something," Gandalf chuckled. They moved out into the dark, crisp air. The stars were shinning a million colors, reflected perfectly in the still waters of the mill pond down at the base of the Hill. Frodo could tell Sam had been very busy replanting trees throughout the area. Little straight saplings in tidy rows, each expertly staked against the North wind, lined the lane leading in to Bywater. Tiny yellow candle lights twinkled from houses and smials tucked into the landscape. All was peaceful. All was calm.

Frodo led Gandalf back behind Bag End to the seclusion of the dark pony pastures. The two friends sat on a wooden bench and lighted up their pipes. After a few minutes had passed, Frodo spoke. "I do love the Shire, Gandalf. Sam and I went on the Quest to save the Shire. But now that it is all over, I do not know if I can stay here."

Gandalf blew a smoke ring out into the pasture, then sent another one chasing after the first. "Having second thoughts about Tol Eressea?"

"No," Frodo smiled. "I shant be leaving Middle Earth. But Aragorn has invited Iris and I to live in Minas Tirith."

"What is wrong with the Shire, Frodo?" Gandalf asked.

"I do not know," Frodo said. "Perhaps it is not the Shire. Perhaps it is myself. There is still something inside of me which is unsettled. I do not quite trust myself, even with Iris and Sam and Rose being here with me. I do not know if I was meant to come back here." He sighed. "Oh, I don't know what to do. Sometimes I still feel so torn in two."

"Then follow your heart, Frodo," Gandalf gently said. "It has never betrayed you. Follow your heart and eventually you will know peace and healing, whether in Gondor or here in the Shire."

They sat in the cool night air under the countless stars, watching the passage of Earendil Gil-Estel through the night sky, smoking their pipes and content with each other's company. Not saying anything more. Listening to the sounds of the ponies munching the tender spring shoots.

ooooooooooooooooo

"You should stay here," Rose said. "Bag End is Mr. Frodo's home, after all." The baby suckled contentedly as Iris fretted. "That little apartment of yours in Hobbiton is too small. I mean, when you have children and all. And Mister Frodo's study is here. All his books and papers are here. Come on, Iris. It only makes sense for the two of you to join the four of us."

"You're right," Iris said. "But I don't want to be a bother. At one time Sam mentioned your Gaffer's place at #3 would be available. Is that still true?"

"Yes," Rose smiled. "We moved the Gaffer into the back bedroom here at Bag End. He's all settled in. Sam and the Gaffer have already cleaned up #3 for you. And his bedroom is much larger than Frodo's old bedroom here. Why, Sam and the Gaffer are even talking about connecting the two smials with a new tunnel through the Hill. That way we can visit without having to go outside during bad weather. Our children could play together and everything!"

oooooooooooooooo

"Do ye really think Mr. Frodo and Miss Iris want to live in me old place?" the Gaffer grumbled as he dried a plate. "Doesn't seem right to me, what with him being Master of Bag End. Seems to me you aught to be the one moving inta my old place, Samwise."

"Now Da, me and Mr. Frodo talked about this before he left," Sam gently said, washing another dish and handing it to his father to dry. "Bag End and #3 are going to become one big smial when we dig that connecting tunnel. The Bagginses already own all the smials on the Hill anyway, sos it's not as if he can't choose where he wants to live. He's fine with moving inta #3, but having access to the rest of Bag End as he needs. And the Doc still has her building in Hobbiton for her medical practice."

"Seems to me we have a big summertime project ahead of us, boy," the Gaffer grumbled. "Gonna take a lot of muscle to dig through the Hill."

"Don't worry, Da," Sam smiled. "We'll have help."


	25. Wanderlust

Chapter 25: Wanderlust  
Rating: PG

Summer passed quickly on the Hill. Sam, Frodo and Pippin spent the steady, hot days constructing a new hallway tunnel connecting Bag End with Bag Shot Row #3. Sam had no trouble convincing the Took to volunteer for hard, sweaty work at Bag End instead of lounging away the summer with his parents at the Great Smials. After all, Bag End was much, much closer to Buckland and to the ever-delightful Miss Diamond Took.

Frodo was not able to help with the heavy digging due to continued shoulder pain, but he contributed by surveying and setting up wooden support beams. He and Sam completed all the paneling, ceiling work and door installation after the major bulk of the digging of the tunnel was completed. Pippin left to spend the remainder of August at Crickethollow. On August 12th, Frodo and Iris moved into their permanent residence at #3, with Frodo maintaining his study and childhood bedroom at Bag End. The Gamgees and Bagginses settled into a quiet, easy routine.

As the weather cooled off and harvest began in earnest, the urge to travel returned to Frodo. Iris watched him pace the tiny living room of their new home and said nothing. He took to watching the sky and noting the slightest change in the weather. He and Sam got into lengthy discussions about harvest and predictions for the severity of the coming winter. Each night in September Frodo took an after-dinner walk, "To keep in shape," he jested. "Sam may look good with a few extra pounds, but I think I shall keep my weight right where it is." Each night the walks proceeded to get longer and longer.

Sometimes Iris stayed up waiting for him by the door with a glass on wine in hand. Sometimes she went to bed early, crying into her pillow until he walked through the door one more time and she hid her tears in the darkness. Frodo never said where he went, and Iris could not bring herself to ask for fear of the answer.

Watching the leaves of the young mallorn tree in the Party Field turn a rich gold recalled to Iris's mind the words of Lord Elrond. When September 19th dawned with frost on the red window sill chrysanthemums, he knew he had to leave. Time was running out.

Before Iris left for work, she saw Frodo returning through the connecting tunnel from Bag End. He carried an ancient brown leather satchel under his arm. She could smell the pungent odor of pipeweed. Frodo smiled tightly. "A birthday gift," was all he said as he headed out the door and around to the barn.

Iris noted his excessive restlessness that evening as the stars brightened in the chill mists. On September 20th, he left after supper, putting on his old worn Elvish cloak. "I just need a little fresh air," Frodo said, grabbing a sturdy walking stick by the front door. "I'll be back in an hour or two; maybe later." He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before disappearing once more into the gloaming.

Iris couldn't take the silence anymore. She walked through the connecting hallway, lightly tapping the door leading into the Bag End kitchen. Rose opened the latch. "Iris, you know you don't have to knock. Come in. What's the matter?" Rose could tell the doctor was upset.

"He's leaving, Rose," she whispered, sitting down heavily at the cleared wooden table and staring into her empty lap. "He said he would be back tonight, but I'm afraid the next time he goes out into the night he won't come back."

Rose came and sat next to her, putting her arms round Iris's shoulders. "Where would he go?" she quietly said.

"The Havens, and then...then to Sea," Iris choked on the word. "I don't know if he can resist the call to depart Middle Earth with the Elves. I've dreaded this time for over a year, and now it's finally happening. Oh stars, Rose. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. I don't even know how to look at him anymore."

Rose stroked Iris's hair. "If it comes down to it, would you let Frodo go?" she whispered.

"Yes, though it would break my heart," Iris sobbed. "If he leaves Middle Earth, I shall quickly follow him, though we would travel different paths."

"Shush Iris. How can you say such a thing?" Rose admonished.

Iris looked up with tears in her green eyes. "Rose, he carries my heart with him. I gave it to him a long time ago. How can a person live without her heart? You have little Elanor, should Sam ever go. I only have Frodo, and if he leaves, I'll die."

"Oh sweetheart, you have us. We are your family too." Rose held onto the crying hobbit. "Even if he leaves, you'll have me and Sam and Elanor and the Gaffer. But Mr. Frodo's not going to leave. He loves you too much. You'll see. He'll come back. He has to." Rose forced Iris to look into her eyes. "For you hold his heart as surely as he holds yours."

As the sun rose over the golden hills the next day, Frodo could no longer deny the urge to travel. He caught up with Sam in the barn before Sam had gone out for the day's harvest. "Come with me, Sam. Just a little trip. Out to the Havens."

"But it's your birthday tomorrow," Sam protested, "and I know you have something planned. I'm in the middle of harvest too. Can't it wait 'til afterwards?"

"No, Sam. This cannot wait. I feel it in my heart. We must go now before we miss them." Frodo was leading him towards to the ponies.

"Miss who?" Sam asked.

"Bilbo. Gandalf. The Elves. They are making their great journey now." Frodo started to saddle up Strider. "I can tell they have reached the edge of the Shire and will be at the Grey Havens tomorrow. We must go now if we are to see them. This is my last chance to see Bilbo before he departs. And I feel in my heart that you should go with me." Frodo retrieved an old brown satchel from behind a hay bale and tied it onto the back of the saddle.

He turned and placed a strong hand on Sam's shoulder. "It is fitting that all the Ringbearers be together one last time before this age passes into twilight of forgotten memories. Get the Cottons to cover for you for a few days. I need you on this trip, dearest Sam. I need you with me to help me resist the temptation to leave."

Sam hesitated. "But Mister Frodo, surely you don't believe Her Ladyship and Lord Elrond and good old Gandalf would try to force you to leave, do you? I mean, you've been over this with them, haven't you? You and Iris are all settled in here."

"It is not them I worry about," Frodo continued. "It is myself. Sam, you know I am not getting better. I fear Saruman's last prediction will come true if I do not go with the Ringbearers into the West. But even if I went across the sea and somehow was healed of my wounds, I would not desire to stay there. The Shire is my home. Iris is my wife. You and Rose and Elanor and even the Gaffer are my family. You are all too precious to me. I just want you with me tomorrow when I say goodbye to Bilbo. To remind me of where my heart truly lies. Will you adventure with me one last time, dearest friend? On small, final adventure? Then I promise, we shall truly go there and back again."

Sam sighed, walked over to the next stall and began to saddle up Bill. "You know I can't refuse you when you're set on something. I'll go with you. We best be telling our families though, don't you think? Might want to take some food along too."

Iris could barely bring herself to look him in the eye as he pulled on his traveling coat. "Don't go," she whispered through trembling lips. "Please. Don't leave me."

"I'm not leaving you," Frodo shook his head and stroked her cheek. "Sam and I will be back next week at the latest." He lightly kissed a lone tear which had escaped and rolled down towards her chin. He placed both hands on her shoulders. "Iris. Look at me."

More tears followed the first as she gazed into his steady robin's egg blue eyes.

"I am not leaving." Each word was spoken with weight and conviction. "I will return. I swear by Elbereth I will come back." She mutely nodded and looked down. Frodo kissed her forehead. "Here," he said, taking her hand in his. "Keep this for me until I return." He placed something in her hand and closed her fingers over it, kissing the white knuckles.

Frodo and Sam mounted their ponies and left; only taking their winter traveling clothes, a bedroll and provisions for two days. As they rounded the bend and headed the ponies towards the West, Iris opened her fist. Arwen's pendant lay curled about her fingers.

Frodo led the way using back country lanes rather than the main roads, avoiding villages and communities wherever possible. After a day's long ride they left the last settlements and were into the wild pine forests leading towards the White Towers. They made a meager camp at the base of the ancient Elf towers, sheltered from a light rain by an old whithered ash tree.

From their vantage point of the Tower Hill, Frodo and Sam could survey the entire countryside about the White Towers. The land itself has been vacant of settlements for at least an Age, but it was once a well-tended kingdom.

"The earth round here is crying out for someone to till it again," Sam remarked. "See over there? Those faint rows of trees? That ain't a wild wood. It used to be an orchard at some time, or maybe a tree farm. Them rows is too regular to be natural. And look over there Mr. Frodo. Those little rolling hills protect the valley from the worse of the North wind. This land is prime for settling. You could raise good crops here. Soil's a bit sandy, but that's best for vegetables and corn. No sheep or cows, savin' for dairy cows. This sandy land won't support much heavy grazing. But it's perfect for crops and orchards and sheep."

Frodo took out a small pad of paper and a charcoal. He made a detailed sketch of the land before the light failed. The two estimated distances and noted landmarks on the map. As the light faded and the stars come out, they ate a meager repast then settled against the ash tree for a quiet smoke. "This land is beautiful and peaceful," Frodo said. "The earth has either never seen war, or it has been so long ago that it has forgotten the word. I would not mind moving here with Iris."

Frodo couldn't wait for sunrise and dragged a sleepy Sam back onto the ponies while the stars were yet in the sky. As dawn stirred the mists to rose, they mounted the crest of a bare grass hill. Sam halted, flabbergasted. "Is...is that the Sea?" he asked. He could make out a thin white and blue line on the horizon, and felt a fresh breeze toss his tangled sandy-brown curls.

"Yes," Frodo reverently whispered, pulling up next to him. "The Sea. Look at it! Do you smell it, Sam? Smell the salt? It's the stuff from which we are made."

"Aye," Sam said. "I can taste the sea in my tears. But I can't say as I much enjoy the association."

"It is familiar territory to me, though I have never seen it," Frodo said. "I know why the Elves are drawn to the Sea now. I hear the song of Ulmo. They can no more resist it than we could stop breathing." He gazed all about the grassy landscape. "I could easily live here."

"Well I couldn't," Sam said. "Rose and me, well, we'd be not wanting to leave our families. And besides, Bag End is perfect for us, and for you and Iris too, if you don't mind me voicing my opinion. I've had enough adventures to last a life time already and don't want to add frontiersman to that list. I'm not keen on moving 'round no more."

Frodo smiled at his friend's honesty. "When I think about it, I am not dissatisfied with the Shire, Sam. Iris would tell me I am only thinking about distancing myself from my past." He headed his pony down the hill. "Come on Sam. Bilbo is waiting."


	26. The Song of Sauron

Chapter 26: The Song of Sauron  
Rating: PG-13 (adult themes)

It was only a short ride from the hills surrounding the Grey Havens to a well-defined path leading into hard granite hills. Sam and Frodo dismounted upon reaching an ancient broad causeway leading down into a secluded harbor bustling with activity. Many ships lay anchored in the harbor. Elves were in the final stages of loading a large pearl-grey swan ship; its mast at the ready with a luminous sail bundled tight to the crossbars. To one side sat a small group. Frodo could see Gandalf's distinctive white robe glowing in the afternoon light. Bilbo sat beside him, swinging his legs to and fro in time with the waves lapping the quay.

They led their ponies down to the docks where they were met by a strikingly tall Elf-Lord clad in shimmery grey-green robes and wearing a thin sinuous silver crown upon his clear, high brow and intertwined into his long white hair. He bowed deeply. "Welcome to the Havens, Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee. You honor us with your presence." All work stopped at hearing the words spoken by Lord Cirdan. Every Elf turned towards the two hobbits and also bowed.

"Frodo! You did make it for my birthday after all!" Bilbo beckoned his heir over. "Come on. Come on!"

Frodo bowed to the Elf-Lord. "Thank you for your welcome, my Lord. But a higher power than even yours calls me." Cirdan chuckled and stepped out of the way. Frodo ran over and kissed Bilbo, hugged Gandalf and bowed low to Elrond and Galadriel.

Sam was left standing alone before the majestic Elf-Lord. Cirdan smiled at him. "Would you like a tour of the Havens, Master Gamgee?"

"You mean you're all not leaving now?" Sam stuttered.

"Not all leave on the evening tide," Cirdan said. "There is need for a great number of ships in the coming years. I leave with Mithrandir and the other Ringbearers, but others stay to continue the work. The Havens will be occupied for another hundred years or so." The two conversed as they slowly walked down to join Elrond, Gandalf, Galadriel and Bilbo sitting on some sacks of grain at the wharf.

"I brought you a birthday present, Bilbo." Frodo jogged back to the ponies and retrieved the worn brown satchel. He carefully handed it over to the ancient hobbit. "A little something for the journey, and something for later."

Bilbo smiled. "Longbottom Leaf, if my nose does not deceive me." He opened the flap and peered inside. "Indeed! Enough to last for quite some time, if I am careful to ration it and not let Gandalf know about it."

"I would think you could spare a leaf or two for an old friend every once in awhile," the wizard chuckled.

"Ah well," Bilbo sighed, "this will only last a week now that he knows." Gandalf and Elrond both laughed. "But what's this?" Bilbo brought out two small leather pouches which had been tucked away inside the satchel.

"Open one, but don't let any of the contents spill," Frodo said. Bilbo carefully untied the string knot, reached inside and brought out a handful of seeds. "Those are Longbottom Leaf seeds," Frodo said. "The other sack is Old Toby. I do not know if Tol Eressea soil will support pipeweed, but I thought you might want to try growing your own supply over there."

"Impressive," Elrond said. "I am sure the gardeners there will find a way."

"Ah, you always were a bright boy," Bilbo said as he replaced the seeds into their pouch and put away the satchel. "Gandalf, did I mention Frodo always gave the best birthday gifts of anyone I know?"

"I remember hearing you say that, my friend," the wizard replied. "Aren't you forgetting your own birthday gift though?"

"Oh yes! Quite right you are." Bilbo slid off the sack of wheat and pulled a small book from the inside pocket of his coat. "I thought you and Iris would appreciate it more than anyone over the Sea, so I'm giving you the poems."

Frodo opened the slim volume and started laughing. "Your limericks!"

"Not just mine," Bilbo said. "I also wrote down the poor attempts by Lord Glorfindel, one by Lord Elrond, and a couple contributed by Gandalf. They are not up to hobbit standards, but I thought I would set them to paper anyway if for nothing else than their historical significance." Bilbo winked as Sam and Cirdan joined the group.

Gandalf laughed. "Now I will be remembered in the Shire for not only my fireworks, but also my poor poetry. Ah, Bilbo. You hobbits do have a way of putting a person in their proper place."

A slender elf-maid dressed in functional work pants and a silky blouse approached the party. "Pardon the interruption, my Lords, but the shipmaster requests all board who are leaving on the swan ship." She bowed to the group. "We sail within the hour."

"Goodbye Mister Bilbo, sir," Sam said through the tears which suddenly started to his eyes. "And thank you for everything you done for me and me family. Me Gaffer told me to tell you to send fer him if the gardener in your new place ain't up to snuff, sos to speak."

Bilbo smiled and hugged Sam. "Of all my pupils, Samwise Gamgee, you are the one who probably most appreciated his education. You've made an old teacher very, very proud." Sam stepped back, wiping a tear from his eyes.

Frodo took his place inside his uncle's open arms. "Goodbye my sweet boy," Bilbo said. "Look after that lass of yours and finish the book."

"I will, Bilbo," Frodo choked, "I promise."

Elrond and Cirdan had already boarded the graceful ship. "Bilbo, it is time." Gandalf stood at the foot of the gangplank. The hobbit smiled one more time, then went with the wizard across the wooden planks and headed towards the port side. The only people remaining at the quay were Galadriel, Sam and Frodo.

Frodo was surprised that he didn't feel the desire to board the ship with Bilbo, but was grateful that Sam was with him for the long journey home. The only thing marring the goodbyes had been the tall Elf-Queen. She stood apart from the others, her eyes veiled behind thick golden lashes. As Frodo and Sam turned to walk back to their patiently waiting ponies, she finally spoke.

"A moment with you, Frodo." She beckoned him to follow her on board the ship.

"No, my Lady," he said, suddenly afraid to go with her. "I cannot board that vessel. If I set foot upon the ship, I shall not be able to leave."

She smiled sadly and nodded understanding. "There is a quiet place back this way then. Quickly now." She floated back into a secluded gazebo behind the stacked goods on the wharf, not turning to see if he would follow or not.

Frodo turned to Sam and grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. "Please come with me, Sam. To be quite honest, I am afraid to be left alone with her."

"Sure, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, confused as to why Frodo would be afraid of the Lady of the Golden Wood. She awaited them under a canopy of ivy and late-blooming honeysuckle.

"What is it that you desire from me, my Lady?" Frodo asked.

Galadriel sat upon a wooden bench and held his gaze. "I no longer have time for subtlety, so I will state my desires directly. You are the last person in Middle Earth to see directly into the mind of Sauron. He was once a blessed Maiar of Aule, before he followed the Great Deceiver, Morgoth. Sauron was not always dark. I once learned craft at his feet when we were in the Blessed Realm, before the darkening of the Two Trees. I also knew him even after his master's fall, when Sauron was still able to take a pleasant form on Middle Earth during the First Age. I must admit that I have always had an attraction to his lore and knowledge. It was this temptation to follow his deceptions which led me to being banished from the Blessed Realm in the first place, Frodo Baggins. I would learn from you his last thoughts upon Middle Earth, if you will allow it."

"I don't think so!" The outrage was clear in Sam's voice. "Hasn't he suffered enough, your ladyship?" The blood rushed to his cheeks as he realized he had rebuked an Elf-Queen, but he held his ground.

"I did not ask this of you, Samwise Gamgee," she quietly said. "This decision is for Frodo."

Frodo shook his head. "I will not. It is not something I wish to re-live."

"There is no need to be afraid, Ringbearer," she smiled faintly. "Sauron is no more. He cannot reach you now. All I ask is to see into your mind, but I cannot do so without your cooperation. With some beings I can read their innermost thoughts without them even being aware. But you have grown much, mortal. You are more alike to the Eldar than mortal-kind, and I keen you would block my questions quite easily should I attempt it without your permission."

Sam couldn't contain himself again. "Pardon me for buttin' in again, but he said he don't want no part of it, your Ladyship. Now, it ain't my place to be telling you what you can and can't do, but if Mister Frodo says he don't want to do it, then I expect you to honor his wishes and leave 'im be."

Galadriel let her gaze drift to capture Sam's eyes. "Trueheart and fellow Ringbearer yourself. I would not ask for anything which is not within his power to give. And I shall honor his wishes, good Samwise Gamgee of the Shire." She turned to Frodo again. "But this is between Frodo and myself. Naught other.

"This is my final chance before we leave Middle Earth forever. I am the last of the original Noldorian Elves who knew Sauron and Morgoth before their fall. And it would help me close that section of my life, if I were to know his thoughts at the last moment. For at that one moment in time, all darkness filled the skies and my powers failed." She bowed her head and sighed. "And if the Ringbearer does not consent to this, I shall never know. And I will be unable to tell the Valar of the final song of one of their Maiar. His song shall be lost forever. And it is a powerful song, for Sauron learned it from the first of the Ainur. Yet Iluvatar teaches that even those who seem to thwart the will of the One are but his instruments in the devising of things yet more wonderful. And I would learn from you of that wonder, err it vanishes utterly."

Frodo looked at the tall golden Elf-Queen. "I have tried to close off that memory, my Lady. What would become of me, should I be forced to re-live that ordeal? Will I go mad? I carry his scars which fester still, and I am perilously close to madness already, saved only by the love of my friends. With the tide goes whatever chance I have of recovery, should the memories overpower me. For there would be no Lord Elrond, no Gandalf, no Galadriel to assuage my distress."

Galadriel shook her golden tresses. "I cannot say, Ringbearer. But know this. The power of the Three wanes but is not totally dimmed. I can protect you from the daemon memories if you cooperate with me fully. If you trust me, Frodo. But you must open to me fully and not flinch at whatever we find locked within your mind."

"Now wait a minute," Sam interrupted. "Won't bringing these memories to the surface only hurt him more?"

"It might actually help in his healing, Trueheart," she said. "I believe your own hobbit physician advocates these same types of treatments. Talking about and sharing the hurts and pain releases some of the power of these daemons so that the body, mind and spirit are freed to heal."

She turned again to Frodo. "The reason Lord Elrond is unable to completely heal you is that he is not of the same age and power as the maker of your wounds. I am closer in power to them since I am child to one of the First-Awakened, but even I am not fully able to heal you. Only one of the blessed Valar themselves could truly cure you, Frodo Baggins. Yet I am closer to the understanding and power of Sauron than any other here, save Olorin himself. And he was not given powers to heal."

"Olorin?" Sam queried.

"Gandalf," Frodo answered. "That's one of his names."

The Elf-Queen stood. "I believe by sharing these memories, I will be helping you, Ringbearer; not harming you. But I cannot be certain until we attempt it. Will you trust me? Will you consent?" She held out her hands to him.

Sam watched Frodo's face as he debated within himself. He sighed heavily as Frodo nodded his reluctant consent. "Well, if you're set on doing this, then I'm going to help too. Here, Mr. Frodo. I'll sit behind you to hold you in case something unexpected happens." Sam plopped himself atop the bench and held open his own arms.

Frodo smiled. "Of course, Sam." He also climbed on top the bench and leaned comfortably back into his best friend's embrace. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath as the Lady Galadriel knelt before him, then opened his eyes. "I am ready."

She placed her hands upon Frodo's head. Sam thought he could feel her presence as well as Frodo's, but was not sure of anything. He could not tell if they were locked into the strange mystical embrace for one minute or one lifetime. But suddenly there were tears. His tears. Frodo's tears. Galadriel's tears.

Frodo whimpered and grabbed hold of Sam's arms as the tears coursed down his flushed cheeks through tightly closed lashes. He and Galadriel began to moan in synchronous time with each other's breaths. Sam could see a pale blue light shining from the ring on her finger. Its radiance widened to surround both their heads and hands as they cry into the light.

As Sam was about to speak, Frodo thrashed in his arms and growled. "No!"

Galadriel broke her hold immediately, stunned at the viciousness and desperation in his voice. Frodo placed his head in his hands, weeping softly. She did not wipe the tears from her eyes, but looked on in pity at both Frodo and Sam.

Sam gently held Frodo in his distress, rocking back and forth as he would to comfort his infant daughter. Frodo shook his head as if to clear the undesired memories from his brain, his weeping subsiding as he regained his composure. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, then untangled himself from Sam's arms. Frodo took a deep, cleansing breath.

"I am sorry." Galadriel's melodious voice washed over his raw emotions like silken water over a parched throat. "I wish I could do more. But know that another shares your memories and is not repulsed. The darkness was defeated through your own love, mercy and compassion. Now you must forgive yourself. Love yourself again, Frodo Baggins. For this world very much needs you and all your kind. I shall take Sauron's song to the Valar and release it there so that it cannot hurt anyone anymore. Be at peace, Ringbearer. Your task is complete."

Frodo nodded grimly and stood, but his face was dark and troubled. "I am afraid the daemons have been released again, Lady. The doors are open and they may come flying out unexpectedly."

"You said he would be better!" Sam scooted off the bench and placed his hands on Frodo's shoulders.

Galadriel smiled at the enraged hobbit. "He will be, eventually. But the memories are potent and the shadows still seek to surround and capture his soul." She knelt again to address Sam eye to eye. "You, my most trustworthy hobbit – keeper of hope in hopelessness - must help him through the coming darkness before it finally dissipates and he comes into his own light. But know this, Samwise, Frodo has the strength to come through this on his own now. For his own faithfulness and compassion will defeat the evil lingering within his heart. He has willingly shared its source with me," she turned to gaze at Frodo, "and I will bless his name forever in the halls of Valinor."

She stood and without a word left the gazebo; walking up the gangplank onto the grey ship; disappearing into its interior. Sam and Frodo stood on the shore as the swan ship's moorings were loost and the boat departed on the receding tide. They stayed until it was eventually lost to view in the setting sun.


	27. Of Herbs and a Sword

Chapter 27: Of Herbs and a Sword

Rating: R (adult themes)

They made love upon his return from the Havens. Intense, passionate love. It was not gentle, yet neither was it cruel. It was fiercely possessive on both their parts. And afterwards Iris returned Arwen's pendant to him. But its subtle beauty brought no comfort to him.

Frodo found himself increasingly preoccupied with what had passed between Galadriel and himself. Something was left unfinished. It disturbed him to think about the intense contact shared between them, but he could not stop his mind from returning again and again to the meeting. It left him feeling mechanical; his mind full of strange thoughts and sudden fits of sadness. Iris tried to get him to talk about it, but he refused. He needed to organize the jumbled mess before he could share what he experienced with anyone.

As autumn slid into early winter, Frodo stopped his evening walks. The stars seemed to be veiled to him; their beauty strangely unnerving now rather than comforting. He took to long nights in his study at Bag End; working until the candles sputtered dead and Sam forced him to leave. He was grateful for the new tunnel connecting the two smials. At least he didn't have to go out into the rain anymore.

Sam and Iris tried to get him to be social, but he resisted. The finality of Bilbo's leaving hit him hard. More hard than he cared to admit. He gave up smoking and took his store of pipeweed over to Sam. Iris said that he was going through a normal grieving period, and told him to not worry too much. But the memories flooded his tired brain until they spilled over into unwanted tears. And these he would not share with anyone.

One dreary rainy day while Iris was off in Hobbiton, the memories came crashing down as he looked out the clear leaded glass windows onto the muddy path around the Hill. Drip. Drip. The rain echoed his internal sadness. The damp caused his shoulder to ache faintly. A familiar pain explained by Galadriel during their silent meeting. He stared out the window and across the sodden fields, letting his wounded mind drift with the howling wind.

He was cursed. His body now sheltered the last of the original poison from the very beginning of time. The Morgul-blades were not made by the Nazgul. The wraiths were permitted to wield them since their original maker could no longer take shape himself. The cursed blades were crafted by the Dark Lord Sauron himself. Their sole purpose was to enslave a child of Iluvitar by placing poisonous witchcraft into the very soul of the being. To turn that person into another wraith to serve the Dark Lord. And he was the last. The last of the wraiths.

Galadriel told him that the spell on the Morgul-blade was older even than Sauron himself. He learned it from his lord, the Ainur Melkor whom the Elves call Morgoth. The spell keeping his wound from healing was a manifestation of the last song of the original Dark Lord Melkor; sung into being after Iluvitar revealed the creation of the Elves and Mortals as children of his thought alone. Melkor's jealousy of the Children of Iluvitar gave form to the evil song. A song to poison the creation of Iluvitar and to enslave the free people forever to Melkor's power. Forever. His pain would last forever.

Frodo sat down at the little desk before the window. There was no escape. But Galadriel has said there was hope.

Galadriel said in all things, even in the evil songs of Melkor and Sauron, there is a way for good to come from it. He remembered her exact words:

"For that is the power of Iluvitar, Frodo Baggins. All created things eventually attune themselves to his will and his love for the creation of Arda and all within it. Even those who seem to thwart the will of the One are but instruments in the devising of things more wonderful. For example, through Morgoth came terrible heat and dreadful cold, the likes of which Middle Earth had never seen. Yet without these Middle Earth would not have seasons and living things could not grow, die and be reborn. Thus, even the evil of Morgoth is changed for the enhancement of the creation. All things eventually work together for good."

But Frodo could not find the good within himself. He saw only a twisted reflection of himself revealed as Sauron showed him in that one frozen horrible moment on Mount Doom. The vision of himself as the vile, twisted, abominable wretched creature willing to sacrifice Sam, the Fellowship, Gandalf, Bilbo, the Shire, the Elves, Dwarves, Men, all free peoples and all Middle Earth in order to maintain his lust for the One Ring.

Frodo stood and tried to think of something else. But the image would not leave.

'And you are so weak. The council should have chosen another, more fitting Ringbearer. One who would not cave in to his weakness at the last moment. One more worthy of their trust; their love; their lives. How many thousands died because of your weakness?'

It was too much. He was going mad. He knew it. The voice inside his head only confirmed what he himself thought. He was not worthy to be called Ringbearer. He should have died. And if he followed the voice in his head, he would end up hurting others again.

'The only solution is to rid the world once and for all of this great evil called Frodo Baggins. Rid Middle Earth of not just the Ring, but Ringbearer.' The voice sounded quite reasonable. He turned to look about the room.

He should do it by fire. That was the original plan. Throw himself into the Cracks of Doom and burn out the poison. But Mordor and Mount Doom were too far away, and Frodo knew in his heart that he would never make that journey again.

'So it must be done here. Here in the Shire itself. Rather fitting, actually. This mess started with a Baggins in the Shire. A Baggins could end it in the Shire as well. Complete the circle. Just like a Ring. World without beginning or end.'

He could take a very large dose of one of Iris's sleeping potions. He would go to sleep and never awaken. So easy.

Frodo wandered into the small bathing room, eventually finding Iris's home medicinal kit in the pantry. He brought the soft brown leather bag to the kitchen and set it before him. Frodo rummaged through the bag, finally spilling its entire contents onto the table in an effort to find the right herb package. He knew he would recognize the smell. She used it on him before but, of course, in very small and highly-controlled dosages.

In his haste, Frodo began to spill the contents of each herb package as he unwrapped them, sniffing at their contents. The table became littered with herbs and bandages and small pouches. Panic rose like bile in his mouth.

'Find the potion. She must have it hidden away somewhere out of reach. She's really far to intelligent for me,' Frodo thought. 'She must have anticipated my suicidal ideas. She's removed the temptation from my grasp. Ah, no matter. There are other ways.' He pushed the medical litter aside and walked into the front study.

Frodo found what he was looking for mounted on the wall above the fireplace. He took Sting in its scabbard down from its wooden holder and returned to the kitchen. He reverently placed the deadly blade in front of him on the table and unsheathed it. It slid quite naturally out of the scabbard. He picked it up with his maimed right hand. It was so beautiful. Frodo lovingly ran his left hand across the cold smooth metal.

'Just cut the wrists. Let the poison flow out of the veins until there was no more. Go into the garden and let the good earth accept this sacrifice. Take the last poison from Sauron back into the earth so that it could never hurt anyone ever again. It would be so easy. Sting is sharp. Sting is a friend. It has seen me through so many ordeals. Only one more task. It would not take too much time or be too painful. Sting would be kind. It would help me in my hour of greatest need. So sharp. So bright. So beautiful.'

He took the sword with shaking hands. The blade was as bright and sensuous as when it was first crafted. The Elvish script inscribed into the tang curled and twined itself through the metal and wood. Sting had been a good friend through all the years. Its cut wouldn't even hurt much, and Frodo knew it would cut deep and true.

Frodo read the Elvish inscriptions on the shining blade. The words were too beautiful for his tainted mouth to say aloud. This was wrong. He could not sully such a beautiful work of art with his tainted blood. Frodo found his pocket handkerchief. He unstoppered a vial of lavender oil from the medical debris and began to polish Sting's worn leather scabbard instead. 'Who knows, my friend. We may take one last journey together sometime. But not today.'

He found a soft, freshly-washed linen bandage lying on the kitchen floor and began to polish Sting with it; caressing the bright blade as a lover caresses the face of their soul mate. He could see his reflection in the blade. It was strangely warped. Stretched out along the slightly convex surface. Thin and cold and bent. Yet a better mirror than any flat-surfaced one in the smial. The polished metal reflected the inner being. Frodo became lost in his reflection, gently turning the blade back and forth, up and down, round and round. Stroking it with the bandage, then testing the metal's sharpness against his thumb. As he suspected, there was no pain. Only a bright crimson line slowly dripping into the cloth. Frodo stared, fascinated, watching the drip, drip, drip slowing down and finally stopping as the wound clotted closed.

"Mister Frodo?"

A soft inquiring voice at the doorsill. He had come without being called. He was here. He was in the room. He could see everything. The medical debris. The sword unsheathed and in his hand. The blood on the cloth. He knew. He understood. He could see into his soul. Damn him.

"Hello Sam," Frodo said flatly, not bothering to look up. He studiously resumed polishing Sting with the stained bandage.

"What are you doing, Frodo?" Sam strode over and quickly snatched Sting from its owner's hand. "Sweet Elbereth! Have you taken any of this stuff?" Sam motioned toward the scattered herbs on the floor and table.

Frodo sat stock still as Sam frantically grabbed the scabbard and thrust Sting back into its holder.

"I have not finished cleaning her," Frodo quietly stated. "There is still some blood on the tip. She deserves better than to be put up dirty." Frodo reached for the sword, only to have Sam back away from him in horror.

"Frodo... What?" Sam was at a loss for words.

Frodo calmly placed the polishing cloth on the table, then folded his hands in front of him. The action reopened the small wound on his thumb, causing it to dribble a trace of blood across the knuckles of his right hand, disappearing down into the gap where his ring finger used to be. Frodo looked up into his best friend's concerned eyes.

"Oh, Frodo," Sam whispered, seeing into the dark blue orbs of despair. He sat down on the bench next to Frodo, careful to place Sting on his right side as far away from the injured hobbit as possible. He could see the wound was not deep and had already closed. Sam placed his left arm around Frodo's thin shoulders and picked up one of the half-spilled potion containers in his calloused right hand. "Did you take any of Iris's herbs, Mister Frodo?" he quietly asked.

Frodo shook his head 'no' and looked across at the debris on the table. "Iris will be annoyed when she comes home." He sighed. "I better straighten this out." He began to stand.

Sam gently sat him back down onto the bench. "We will take care of it later, Frodo. Right now I need to know what happened. Tell me what's going on inside your head. Take your time. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here with you. You know you can trust your Sam, no matter how hard it is to tell."

Frodo glanced sideways at his friend's face, then looked down at his clasped hands. "I cannot do it, Sam. I can't do it. It would be too easy. I have not suffered enough."

"Mister Frodo, you've suffered more than enough," Sam choked. "It's time to stop livin' in the past. Time to put all that out of your mind. You've so much to live for. There's so many bright and beautiful things in the world for you to explore. You've got Iris, and she loves you. She needs you. I love you too, Mister Frodo. You know that, but I'll say it as many times as it takes till you believe me. I love you, Frodo. I would do anything for you. But this is the one thing you have to do for yourself. You've got to reach deep inside yourself and find the person we all love. He's still there. I can see him. He's sitting right here next to me."

"No, Sam," Frodo said. "That Frodo died on Mount Doom."

"No you didn't," Sam insisted. "You didn't die when the Ring went into the Fire. I know you think you failed, but you didn't. That weren't you up there. That was the Ring controlling you. Sauron controlling you. The Frodo I know and love is still here. There's nothing keepin' you from living again, save your own memories."

"If Gollum was here right now, would you kill him?" Sam asked suddenly.

Frodo looked perplexed. "What's that got to do with anything? Gollum's dead."

"Just answer the question," Sam insisted. "If Gollum was here right now – right next to you – would you kill him?"

"Of course not," Frodo frowned.

"Why not?" Sam asked. "He tried to kill you."

"You know why," Frodo said.

"I want to hear you say it."

Frodo squirmed at being put on the spot. "Because.... Because ..... You know why, Sam."

"Say it!"

"Because I pity him!" Frodo yelled directly into Sam's face. "The Ring did that to him. He could not help himself. It wasn't his fault. It .... It ...wasn't ...his ....fault."

A single tear escaped to trickle down Frodo's cheek as he bowed his head into Sam's waiting shoulder.

"No more that it was your fault," Sam gently said. Frodo grabbed Sam's shirt and sobbed. "You forgave Gollum. It's time to forgive yourself." Sam embraced Frodo and gently stroked his grey-streaked curls.

"I do not know if I can," Frodo sobbed.

"You can. I know you can," Sam said. "You're strong that way. Galadriel said you had it in you to do it, and I believe her. Trust in yourself, Mister Frodo. Trust the Lady. She said you could get it out into the light by talking about it. Tell Iris. You've already told her lots of things. She's your wife. And she's your healer. She can help you. I can help you too, but I'm not always around now."

"Oh, Sam..." Frodo pulled back and wiped his tears on the back of his hand, leaving an inadvertent streak of blood across his cheek. "Honestly, Sam. I wasn't about to commit suicide when you came in. I was... was past that point. There was something... Something in me which would not let me do it."

"I believe you," was all Sam could say.

Frodo looked beyond Sam and saw his sword resting on the bench, safely tucked away in its old scabbard. "Please hand me Sting. I really do not want her put up without wiping her clean."

Sam nodded slightly and reluctantly handed the deadly blade to his master. Frodo unsheathed it reverently and picked up the forgotten handkerchief. He spread a little more oil onto the bloodied cloth, and with the care of a sacred relic, removed his own bloodstain from the fine Elvish sword tip. When he was satisfied that the blade was perfect again, he firmly replaced the sword into its familiar scabbard and stood up.

Sam caught him just as he collapsed into his arms. Frodo was breathing heavily. "It's all right, sir," Sam said as he helped Frodo out of the kitchen and into his small front study. Frodo would not release his grip on the sword, dragging it along behind him as the two friends staggered into the room. Sam helped him into a padded easy chair and knelt before his master. "Are you all right?"

"I... I need to catch my breath." Frodo bowed over and rested his elbows to his knees, the sword dangling between his legs. After a few moments, Frodo looked up. His cheeks were flushed, but his eyes were finally clear and bright, much to Sam's relief. "I am too old to be doing this, Sam," Frodo said grimly. "These emotional outbursts will be the death of me."

Sam was aghast. Then he noticed Frodo's faint smile. "Tis not a laughing matter, Mister Frodo."

"Oh, but if we cannot laugh at death, what can we laugh at, Sam?" Frodo actually grinned. He leaned back into the comfort of the chair, closed his weary eyes and sighed. "I love this chair. I think I could easily go to sleep in this chair. It was Bilbo's, you know. What time is it?" Sting lay heavily across his lap.

"Um... half past seventeen bells," Sam replied. "I came over to invite you and Iris to dinner tonight..."

"Iris!" Frodo suddenly sat upright. "What a mess I've made in the kitchen! Sam. You have to help me clean it up before she returns home."

"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but you need some cleanin' up too." Sam raised one eyebrow. "You've a blood smudge on your face and oil all over your hands and coat sleeves. Why don't you put Sting away and get yourself freshened up while I take care of the kitchen?"


	28. Ghost Laid to Rest

Chapter 28: Ghost Laid to Rest

Rating: PG

He knew it would happen, and there was no way he could stop it. This time he was afraid. Very afraid. Not for himself. No. Not for himself. He was afraid for her.

Frodo trembled in the dark, desperately hoping Iris would not be awakened with his tossing and turning. She had come in late from an emergency and was exhausted. He was startled out of troubled sleep with the old, familiar pain in his shoulder and neck.

Frodo tossed off the quilt and slid out of bed, almost collapsing on the floor when his leg tried to buckle. 'Must be raining,' he thought. The wound in his thigh from Ted Sandyman's attack still bothered him when it rained. He steadied himself and gently pulled the blankets back up around Iris. She murmured a little hum in her sleep, turned over and was still.

The room felt freezing to him, but he knew it was only an illusion. Never the less, he could not help himself as he added fresh kindling to the banked fireplace coals. Cold. He was so cold. He could hear the rain sporadically spattering against the window panes. A chilling, relentless rain left over from the previous evening. He quietly placed a large log upon the small fire, then wrapped himself in one of the extra quilts they kept in the cedar chest at the foot of the bed, grimacing as the chest squeaked shut. He sat as close to the fire as he could without setting his wrap ablaze.

Cold. The only time he felt truly warm was after he and Iris made love.

"Frodo?"

He could see as clearly as a cat in the darkness. She sat up in bed, stray curls hanging loose across her white forehead. She was looking at him from across the room. "Come back to bed. It's not even daylight. I miss you."

"What day is it?" he mumbled through chattering teeth.

"Um...I guess it's the sixth by now," Iris muttered as she lay her heavy head back into the pillow. "The sixth of Octo..." She bolted upright. "Shiest! It's the sixth! Frodo? Are you all right?" Iris threw off the bed clothes and ran across the rug to him. He shrank back from her sudden movement.

"Iris?" He looked intently at her face. "It is happening again. This one is going to be rough." He curled up inside himself and hugged the quilt tighter to his shaking body.

"All right," Iris said. "We knew it would be. But you are still here with me. It isn't as bad as last time, is it?"

"No," he said, not looking up. "I am here, but I am so cold."

Iris added another log onto the fire. "Come back to bed, love. I'll get the extra blankets and brew you some medicine for the pain." She persuaded him back into their four-poster bed and added two thick comforters to the quilts. He sighed, curling into a fetal position on his right side. "I'll be right back," she said, quickly putting on her robe and disappearing into the kitchen.

In a few minutes she reappeared, bearing strong pain tea and a bowl of steaming water and dried athelas. Frodo sat up in bed and swallowed the tea in one gulp. He was quite cooperative and let her bathe the old wound in the warm athelas water.

As the grey light of dawn finally spilled into the bedroom through the misty rain, Frodo's shaking subsided and he drifted off into a deep sleep. Iris dressed during the quiet; taking a little time to brew herself some calming chamomile tea and eat a little breakfast.

What to do? She was expected at the physician's offices in Hobbiton for some scheduled surgery this morning, followed by an afternoon trip to a home-bound patient in West Hobbiton. Perhaps she could get Sam to go into town and let Opal reschedule. Or Opal could take the afternoon visit while she did the surgery and then came home? Or maybe Rose and Elanor could spend the day here looking after Frodo? Her internal deliberations were interrupted.

"That smells good. May I join you?"

Frodo stood in the doorframe, fully dressed and quite calm. He was leaning onto a small carved wooden cane in his right hand, his left arm swaddled in a dark blue sling brought back from Rivendell. Typical of the Elves, even something as functional as a sling was of exquisite material and design accent. Threads of finest silver glinted in the soft morning light. Iris noted that the buttons on his shirt were off by one.

"Oh, honey, let me fix that for you." Iris came out of her chair.

"Fix what?" He blinked rather lethargically.

"The shirt buttons are misaligned," she replied as she kissed his cheek and unfastened the brass buttons of the vest to reach the shirt. She couldn't resist running her fingernails over his exposed, smooth chest. After all was made straight, Frodo kissed her back. He limped over to his chair and sat at the kitchen table.

"You must be feeling better," Iris said, relieved that the recurring nightmare episode had passed so quickly. She poured him a cup of strong black tea and sliced off some bread. She knew he would be slow and subdued from the effects of the pain medication.

Frodo stirred a spoonful of honey into the black tea. "A little left-over headache and the usual shoulder pain, but much better." He smiled with resignation written all over his face. "You said it would take a year for my stab wound to fully heal. Seems like every time it rains it aches. Oh well. No heavy lifting for me today, but I think I can occupy myself with a little correspondence."

"Are you sure?" Iris asked. The clock chimed nine bells. If she left now she would get to the offices only a little late for the surgery. Opal would have opened the reception area and would have everything for surgery ready to go. Everyone would be waiting for her.

Frodo again smiled faintly. "Certainly. Go on. I shall stay here and rest. I will see you tonight."

Iris was so proud of him. He was doing SO much better than last spring. She kissed him on top of his head as he continued to mechanically stir his tea. "I'll see you when I'm through with this morning's surgery. If you start feeling poorly again, make yourself some of the medicine tea. I'll leave it out on the countertop. And don't forget that Sam and Rose and Elanor are down the hallway if you need someone to talk to." She grabbed her keys and cloak and departed.

The tea tasted bland. The bread, dry. The raspberry jam, unappealing. His taste buds were off. Consequently, nothing was satisfying. He mechanically ate; grateful for food of any sort. After his ordeal in the wastes of Gorgoroth, Frodo never took food or water for granted, even if he was unable to enjoy their taste. It was a quirk he shared with Sam. Neither hobbit ever let any food or drink go to waste. Rose dealt with Sam's food obsession by keeping dried fruits always available. Sam secretly kept a handkerchief of dried fruits in the inside pocket of his waistcoat, just in case.

Frodo didn't remember moving into the little front parlor after breakfast, but found himself at his desk staring out the window at the drip, drip, drip falling from the withered grass blades over the eaves. 'Such a sad sound,' he thought. 'Yet it is the sound of life. I wonder if it is raining in Mordor. I wonder if it will ever rain there again. It must rain there occasionally, for we found thorns and bracken growing. Painful, twisted life, but life never the less. Life is tenacious. It continues long after all logical thought says it should give up and die.'

His thoughts were interrupted by a tentative knock at the front door. The unusual sound startled Frodo, causing him to knock over the tea cup perched precariously on the edge of the desk. It bounced on the hardwood floor; the saucer breaking in two and cold tea splashing across his feet. 'Oh, bother,' Frodo sourly thought. "Just a minute," he yelled at the unexpected visitor. He threw his handkerchief over the puddle, found his cane, and hurriedly limped to the circular entranceway.

"Good morning, Mister Baggins, sir." Dibble Culvert whipped off his soggy hat and bowed slightly, shifting his weight back and forth as he stood in the doorway. The wet hobbit wouldn't quite meet Frodo's gaze.

"Do we know each other?" Frodo quizzed. He didn't think he had ever been introduced to this hobbit who evidently knew his name and where he lived.

"Uh, no sir; not rightly anyways," Dibble stammered. "Me name's Dibble Culvert and I work over at Sandyman's mill down Bywater way."

"Oh," Frodo said, still puzzled. "Goodness. Where are my manners? Please come in."

Frodo held open the door with his good hand as Dibble shuffled nervously inside. "Please, come on back into my study," Frodo said, leading the way into the first room off the entranceway. Frodo went to pick up the broken saucer and teacup, but Dibble intercepted.

"Uh, let me get that for you, Mr. Baggins, sir." Dibble scooped up the broken china and put the sodden handkerchief inside the cup.

"Thank you, Mr. Culvert," Frodo smiled. Dibble kept twisting his hat in his hands, even after he sat down in the chair proffered. Frodo eased himself into his leather chair by the fire and set his cane aside, careful to not bump the left arm in its sling against the armrest. Dibble watched the motion, and frowned slightly.

"Now, what may I do for you?" Frodo asked.

"Shiriff Bolger sent me over," Dibble said. "He said you'd be the one to help me out in buying the mill."

"I cannot see how you could possibly purchase Mr. Sandyman's mill, Mr. Culvert. A year has not yet passed since his disappearance, and his estate cannot be disposed of until he is declared legally deceased after that time."

"Oh. Guess you haven't heard the news then, sir," Dibble nervously said. "Some of the Big Folk round Bree found Ted's body 'bout a week ago. His Breeland cousins identified it, even though it were missing its head and left hand." Dibble looked at his feet. "Poor Teddy." He suddenly sat bolt upright. "Oh, forgive me, Mr. Baggins, sir. I know you probably hate Ted, and I have no right to talk about him like that in front of you. And in your own house, too! It's just...well, Teddy was my friend at one time. He brought the trouble to himself, make no mistake about that. What he did was unforgivable. And I'm so sorry about him attacking you. I'm so sorry, Mr. Baggins." The hobbit twisted the poor hat into a band of useless cloth.

Frodo sighed quietly. "Mr. Culvert, you might not believe this, but I never hated Ted Sandyman, even after the attack. I have experienced so much hatred and evil in my travels, that I have no room for such in my heart. I only wish Ted had repented of his evil. I am sorry to hear of his terrible demise, and feel sympathy towards his family and friends."

"Friend," Dibble corrected. "I think I was Ted's only friend. But he wouldn't listen to me, and now he's dead." Dibble sighed.

"Have the Shiriffs or the Bree Patrol identified the killers?" Frodo quietly asked.

"No sir," Dibble replied. "But Shiriff Bolger tells me Captain Brandybuck thinks it was a group of Big Folk in some army out there in the Wild, and we wouldn't be hearing no more from them anyway. Can't say as anyone thought it unusual that Ted ended up dead, but to have his head and hand cut off..." Dibble shivered.

"Anyways, Teddy's closest relatives are his cousins," Dibble continued. "They got together and decided none of 'em knew anything about running a mill. So they're gonna sell it. They offered it to me, and I'd sure like to buy it, but I don't have enough copper, you see. I got about half what I need."

"And how did you get my name?" Frodo asked.

"Shiriff Bolger's wife is one of Ted's cousins," Dibble said. "Mrs. Bolger is representing the Sandyman family in the selling of the mill. She and Shiriff Bolger said you would have the answer."

A sudden pain shot through Frodo's aching shoulder. He couldn't help but close his eyes in an attempt to control the pain while in front of his guest.

"Is..is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Baggins?" Dibble asked. "I feel so guilty about you getting injured and all."

Frodo mastered himself and sank back further into the easy chair. "I shall be all right in a moment or so." He opened his eyes and looked at the concerned hobbit sitting across the rug from him. "Why should you feel guilty about my injuries?"

Dibble blushed a deep red. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Baggins. Really I am. You see, Teddy told me he was gonna attack you the day before he did it. He tried to get me in on it, but I told him to take a hike. I didn't want no part in it. But I didn't think he would actually go do it. I didn't think he had enough guts to do it himself. If I had known...I should have warned you or the Shiriff or someone. Then you wouldn't be injured and Teddy might still be alive."

Dibble stood and bowed stiffly. "It was wrong of me to come here and bother you like this, Mr. Baggins, sir. I don't know what I was thinkin'. I'll leave now and bother you no more."

"Sit down, please, Mr. Culvert." Frodo's voice could not be questioned. Dibble sat immediately.

"I do not hold a grudge against Mr. Sandyman or against you," Frodo continued. "The injury I received from Ted is healing. This current pain is from another wound I suffered while on my travels. It has nothing to do with either you or Mr. Sandyman. Now, please, shall we continue our discussions about the mill?"

For the next hour Frodo and Dibble discussed how the mill was being run, what it needed in the future, and financing for the mill's purchase from the Sandyman heirs. Dibble was a shrewd analyst of the needs of the area's families. He had millwork projections for the rest of the year, and had taken into account the small population increase which had happened after the "Troubles" of 1419. In the end, Frodo decided to trust the mill worker and invest in him. Frodo was the one who suggested commissioning a new, second millstone from the Scary Quarries, with delivery as soon as possible. The purchase date was set, and the miller departed in a much happier mood than when he arrived.

Frodo was also in a better mood. His shoulder wound still ached and his left arm was cold, but the pain in his thigh had receded with the rain. The early afternoon sun shone upon the wet landscape out his window. Frodo made himself a meager late lunch, then went back to work on the mill finances.

He didn't hear Iris arrive a little after fourteen bells.


	29. Evening of Light

Chapter 29: Evening of Light

Rating: R (sexual situations)

Iris was glad she took one of the ponies into Hobbiton that morning. She had come back to Bag End 3 (as they now called their home) loaded with sacks. She was equally glad the rain was over, and grateful that the change in weather brought cooler temperatures. In order for her plan to work, she needed cooler air.

"Whatever it is you're working on, it must be very important." Iris stood smiling in the doorway to his study. Frodo hadn't heard her come into the smial. He was faintly surprised when he glanced outside and noticed it was not raining.

"You are home early," he said, putting aside his charcoal. He was stranded in a sea of crumpled paper wads on the floor. Working out complicated mathematics for an amortized loan to Dibble Culvert made him feel as if he had been swimming against the tide all afternoon. His left arm lay cold and lifeless in the sling and his headache had returned. "Is anything wrong in town?" he said, massaging his right temple.

Iris walked over and gave him a quick kiss. "Nothing wrong. Opal is taking my patients this afternoon. But I've a request. Would you mind not coming into the living room until I get you? I'll answer the door bells too. I've a surprise for you. That is, if you'll cooperate." She smiled enigmatically and rested her hands upon his shoulders.

"All right," Frodo said, closing his eyes in appreciation for the tender touch. He wondered if she could feel his weariness through the tension in his shoulders and neck. He knew she could see the dark circles under his eyes.

"Let me bring you something," she whispered.

'Ah, she can feel it,' he thought.

Frodo continued to work on the annuity schedule for the mill. Figuring compounded interest for a multi-year loan was not his favorite thing in the world to do. But Bilbo had insisted he study advanced mathematics, and now that study was paying off. Very few hobbits knew their multiplication tables, and fewer still could master a subject as complex as this. Frodo knew that was the real reason Fredigar Bolger sent Dibble over to him.

Frodo again lost track of the time; absorbed in a long division problem scrawling across the page. He looked up upon realizing that Iris was quietly standing by his left elbow, tea service in hand. He stopped his work at the smell of honey-baked scones and strong jasmine tea.

"Um...wonderful," he said between bites. "Are you going to join me?" Their thoughts were interrupted by the cheerful jingle of the front door bells.

"I'll get it," Iris quickly said, rising to leave the study. "Remember, you promised to stay here until I give the word." She teasingly wagged her forefinger at him.

"Yes, dear. Anything you say, dear," Frodo slyly joked. The two enjoyed word games and teasing each other with trite monikers whenever they could slip one into their conversations. Iris rolled her eyes as she left the room. Frodo was smugly pleased at his jest. His headache was receeding too.

As he leaned back into his chair, he could hear the sounds of someone coming into the hallway and being led into the back portion of the smial. A curious quiet rolling sound followed the soft padding of hobbit footsteps down the polished oaken hallway floor. Frodo listened carefully, trying to discern anything about the mysterious visitor he was not allowed to see. He could faintly hear Iris whispering, and a female voice answered in equally low tones. He couldn't quite place the name belonging to the voice, but was sure he had heard it before.

He had finished the soothing jasmine tea and a couple of the honey-laced sconces and had closed up his work for the day when Iris returned to the study carrying his dark green bath robe. He took it from her outstretched arm, one eyebrow raising in a silent question.

"Yes," she winked, "please change in here. I'll be back in a few minutes." Iris smiled and left the room, gently closing the door behind her. As Frodo began to remove his clothes he could hear music softly floating through the house. Harp music. Gentle, soothing melodies. Frodo lightly shook his head in wonder at what Iris had planned for him. What was normally a horrible day of remembrance and shadowy pain was turning into an evening of mystery and music.

He removed the sling, letting his aching arm hang almost useless at his side. He could control some movement in the hand, but the old shoulder wound protested every time he moved it. He felt a bit awkward with a guest in the house and him being dressed only in his robe. He was about to pull on his breeches and suspenders when Iris reappeared.

"Oh, no you don't," she shook her finger at him. "Robe only, if you please." She was also wearing her robe, and her hair was lightly braided in one large plat hanging down her back.

"What about our guest?" he asked, putting the breeches back atop the pile of clothes lying in his chair.

"She is situated so that she will not see a thing. And I've arranged for her to quietly slip away at the appropriate time." Iris winked again and pulled him into her embrace, fishing a long white goose feather from a pocket and rubbing it about his ear tips as she kissed him.

Frodo was faintly shocked. Iris seldom planned anything as elaborate as this evening. Her work kept her too busy and preoccupied for more than spontaneous shows of affection. Most times it was Frodo who planned their intimate encounters.

Where Iris was leading him, Frodo hadn't a clue, but the feather made him break the kiss. He couldn't help himself. "I guess I am ticklish tonight," he giggled, rubbing his tingling right ear with his hand and blushing at how absolutely silly he felt. 'Like a tweenager,' he mused.

"That means you are not relaxed, Mister Baggins," Iris replied, tapping his nose thrice with the feather. Her green eyes glowed with mischievousness. "I have just the thing for you. Just what the doctor ordered." She took his hand, her warm fingers playing with his cool ones. "But I must insist you keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them. Can you do that, or may I blindfold you?"

Frodo's mind was instantly thrown into a tangle of strong emotions. Could he totally submit to her will and let her blindfold him? He knew Iris knew of his reluctance to be blindfolded, ever since he and Sam were forced to endure blindfolds during the Quest. And yet she was asking him if he trusted her enough to do it.

He could feel his heart thumping faster with remembered dread. And yet, at the same time, he was aroused to think of letting go and letting her have her way with him. Tangled memories of Faramir's men and the silent Elvish guards of Lothlorien warned against loosing his sight again. But it was for her....

It was a combination of trust and lust which finally won over fear. He looked directly into her eyes; his robin's egg blues to her twinkling summer grass greens. "Blindfold," he whispered, instantly breaking out into a slight sweat of anticipation.

His heart pounded anew as she slipped the feather into the right pocket and produced a grey silk handkerchief from the left. She draped the silk across his shoulders and pulled him back into a kiss, letting her hand slip down the outside of his robe, around his hip, and reaching to caress the manifestation of his excitement. "Now, now, Mister Baggins," she breathed into his open mouth as they separated, "mustn't become overly excited just yet."

Frodo took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the soothing harp music as Iris bound the silk across his eyes. "It is very, very difficult to keep from becoming excited with you around, Miss Proudfoot."

She ran her hand down his shoulder and arm and took his hand. "Come with me, my love," she whispered to him.

He knew they were going into the living room just next door down the hallway, but being blindfolded and hearing the music become slightly louder as they walked hand-in-hand down the corridor was a bit unnerving. Iris opened the door and lead him inside, closing the door behind her.

The first thing Frodo noticed was the heat. The room was definitely warm. He actually felt very comfortable. And he knew if he thought the room was warm, then it must actually be quite hot for Iris. He could hear the fire crackling, hissing and popping somewhere at his right side. But light seemed to be coming from everywhere. He could sense a glow even through the blindfold.

The next thing he noticed was the smell. Honey. And flowers. Some sort of flower. Something she used for teas. Something Sam grew in the Bag End gardens out back in the center of the herb garden next to the birdbath. Delicate little white flowers with yellow centers. Chamomile. That was it. The room smelled like chamomile tea with honey. But much, much stronger. He could almost taste the honey in the air. And something else. Something exotic.

Iris took him by the arm and led him to the center of the room. "It's just you and I here," she whispered. "Step up a little."

His foot touched something soft and furry. 'Ah, the sheepskin rug,' he immediately thought. 'But raised up a bit.' Multiple layers of rugs with the oh-so-soft round sheepskin rug on top. Very springy under foot. Another layer of softness upon his senses. She turned him so that he was now facing the fireplace, judging from the increased heat source.

He could feel her untying the belt, and felt the robe slip off his shoulders. He stood there in the center of the living room, naked, and yet warm, with the exception of the perpetually cold spot on his shoulder and his eyes bound with the grey silk.

He remembered a time long, long ago, when he had felt this warm and free from care. Summer. A very hot summer. He was 15 years old. He had skipped out of his chores at the old stifling Brandy Hall and went skinny dipping all by himself at a secluded backwater pool by the river. And had lain on a sun-baked bolder in the sizzling afternoon sun to dry off. Naked to the sky and the air, relishing a rare lazy afternoon by himself and contentedly masturbating in the sunshine.

He came back out of the memory when he heard the soft 'shush' of another silk robe falling to the floor. "Iris?" he asked, suddenly unsure of himself.

"Lie down on your stomach." Her voice sounded different. It was not a request. It was a command. "Trust me," she purred into his ear as a feather teased his kneecap. It startled him – being a touch in an unexpected location. But he did as he was bid, and settled himself onto the soft rug. He found a pillow for his head and relaxed into the warmth of the golden mist about his blinded eyes.

"Spread your legs a bit more."

So exotic. He wanted to tear the blinders from his eyes and see what she was planning. Instead, he acquiesced, exposing himself to the merciless feather. It traveled from the back of his knee, up the inside of his thigh, and circled about his exposed balls.

Even though he still wore the grey silk ribbon about his eyes, Frodo would have shut them anyway under the barrage of sensations. He yielded himself to the warmth and touch and smells of the room. A deep "Ummmmm" was all he could manage as the tightness in his neck and shoulders loosened and the tightness in his groin increased.

Deliciously warm hands dripping with fragrant, hot oil caressed his buttocks, moving in lazy circles in and around and out and over. Exotic spice mingled with the honey and oil.

"Don't forget to breathe, my love." More oil was drizzled onto the small of his back, and the unseen hands moved ever so achingly slowly in strong waves up and down his spine. He sensed she was kneeling between his splayed legs, her strong fingers returning again and again to massage every muscle of his back and legs; twin breasts occasionally kissing his skin as she reached upwards. The nimble fingertips made infrequent side journeys around and between his thighs as if he needed a reminder of pleasures to come.

He became lost in the sensations. Warm. He was so comfortably warm. The music floated in from the hallway from the unseen harpist. Iris never stopped the massage. It traveled up from his feet to his calves, and then to his hamstrings and buttocks. Frodo thought he would surely get a chance to roll over and finish what Iris had begun, but she would not let him.

"Ah ha...no you don't, Mister Baggins," she lightly slapped a butt cheek as he moved to flip over. "You lay back down and relax or I shall have to leave the room."

"Moon and Stars and Sun and all the Vala forbid that you should leave now," he grumbled as he lay back down and Iris continued her massage. "But if you keep massaging my, um, front by reaching between my legs, well...the Moon and Stars and Sun and all the Vala would be forced to agree that you are not playing fair."

"I never said I was going to play fair," Iris smugly replied. She continued upwards, massaging his back and neck, and then down each arm and hand. Frodo felt drowsy and happy and very, very relaxed. He even thought he could feel a trickle of sweat rolling down his spine. 'What a luxury,' he lazily thought.

Frodo looked for all the world to be asleep lying on his stomach; completely and utterly relaxed. The music had stopped some time ago at the prearranged time. Iris knew the harpist was already on her way back to Hobbiton. But when Iris' hands stopped, he took a deep breath and sighed contentedly.

"You may turn over now," she quietly said.

Frodo found to his surprise that his left arm wasn't lifeless. He was able to turn himself over without effort. He could feel her beside him, and he reached out blind hands to find his beloved. Iris quickly straddled his torso, and with a firm grip, held down his right hand at his side. She breathed her hot breath onto his jaw line before licking a long trail from his chin down his throat, coming at last to his left shoulder. She teased him with her hot tongue and sharp nibbles all across his shoulder and breast.

He didn't even notice that it was his left hand which firmly interlocked in her damp, curly hair, directing her sensuous hot mouth downward. The warmth and music and massage and the very, very distracting blindfold had succeeded in turning Frodo's mind from any thoughts of pain. All he could think about now was seeing her. Seeing Iris. Between his legs.

As he wrenched off the now-annoying silk with his left hand, Iris released his right and stood.

He was bedazzled. Hundreds of candles. They were everywhere. They dominated the room. All sizes and shapes. On the mantle. On tables. On platters and trays set on the floor. All burning brightly and twinkling like a hundred miniature golden stars. An extra large grouping of them surrounded the roaring fireplace.

The furniture had been pushed back against the walls, leaving a large area in the center of the room. He was lying on a small stack of rugs. He recognized the rug from their bedroom, the old rag rug on top of it, and...Sam's living room rug on top of that! Then their fine combed sheepskin rug on top of the others.

Iris stood to one side, back lighted by the mass of candles still fiercely burning. He shifted the pillow to be under his head, and added a second one in order to better enjoy the final sensation of sight.

She was bathed in sweat, both from the heat of the room and from her exertions during the massage. But she didn't complain. As Frodo watched, she lightly toweled off, and then returned to the warm massage oil. There was no need to try to hide his rising excitement as he watched his wife liberally apply the oil all over her own body. She stood, glistening in the candlelight as he stroked himself, her desire as plain to read as his own.

She walked over and straddled his prostrate form. "Shall I continue to massage your front, my lord?" she winked. "You seem to have a swelling which needs to be brought under control. I think a vigorous full-body massage could do the trick."

Frodo could only groan his approval as Iris lay her oil-slicked body on top of his, supporting her torso on her hands as he sought and found his treasure. The sensations were heightened by the previous hour of sensuous touch, the heady aroma and warmth from the myriad candles, plus the heated and spiced oil all over their bodies. Iris flowed over and around him; oil and sweat from the two mingling freely across their bellies and breasts and hips. Her hair came undone and rich brown curls cascaded to curtain the lovers' fevered faces.

And with a rush, the Moon and Sun and Stars and the Vala themselves blessed their union. And Frodo would never again think of October 6th as a day of pain; only as a Evening of Light.


	30. Epilogue

Chapter 30: Epilogue  
Chapter rating: G

To: King Aragorn, son of Arathorn, of the Royal House Strider  
Lord of the Reunited Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor  
Royal Palace, Minas Tirith, the Kingdom of Gondor

From: your loyal subject and friend, Frodo  
Bag End, The Shire, Kingdom of Arnor

My dearest Aragorn,

I am writing to you in the still hours before dawn. Before my household awakens and the quiet of a chill midwinter's night is replaced by the joyful celebration of Yule Day. I wish to share my own joys with those I love who are far away. Hence, the book which accompanies this letter.

This book is my account of what happened during the Quest and the War. I have been working on it since arriving back in the Shire two years ago. I hope you do not mind my conceit in titling it "The War of the Ring and the Return of the King."

I tried to include the actions and accomplishments of all races and peoples, but it is essentially a hobbit's tale. Legolas and Gimli stopped by last year while on their way to Erin Luin. They provided the missing details of your travels along the Paths of the Dead.

I have finished writing my part of the tale, though my proofreaders tell me it needs more interesting details. Merry says it needs to include a history of pipeweed. Pippin is keen on inserting all our family genealogies. Ever since he started dating his distant cousin he's been preoccupied with lineage and tales of the Thains. Samwise wants to add a chapter about hobbits in general, as he believes not many people in your kingdom will automatically know what a hobbit is. And I still await the details on Dwarvish settlements in Moria between the activities by Bilbo, Thorin Oakenshield and Company and now. Gimli promised me this last year. Oh well. I will send any additions to you as they occur.

One thing of note: I changed the ending of the story substantially. You will see that I have myself sailing off to Tol Eressea with Bilbo, Gandalf, the Lady Galadriel, Lord Elrond, Lord Cirdan and the other elves. I did this so that any who read the tale will believe I have left Middle Earth for good. That way they will not be tempted to try and find me. It is not that I have become a recluse, though Sam nags at me for failing to attend each and every social event in the Shire. He will be elected Mayor some day if he keeps that up!

The reason I wish to "disappear" is more personal. I fear for the safety of those close to me. In case word has not reached you yet, the Captain of the reorganized Easterling Army has placed a bounty on both our heads. I doubt if you have anything to worry about since you are protected night and day by the Royal Guard. I, on the other hand, am a private citizen living in a poorly-patrolled area of the Northern Kingdom.

Two attempts on my life have already occurred – one within the Shire and one while on a trip to Rivendell. Merry and Pippin have organized the Shire Muster (our border patrol), but it is quite easy for a determined Man to cross into the Shire at any number of points. The good Big Folk of Bree, supported by Master Barliman Butterbur, are assisting the Buckland Patrol in policing the East Road between the Brandywine Bridge and Bree's West Gate. But more and more Big Folk refugees are settling into the Wild around the Greenway, placing them in close proximity to the South Farthing. I fear more will be tempted to locate the Halfling Ringbearer of the Nine Fingers, and bring his head on a pike back to claim the reward.

If it was simply myself in danger, I would have truly left a long time ago. But I am afraid for my family – Iris, Sam, Rosie, and little Elanor (Sam's daughter). Iris has already suffered as a hostage in the incident on the Road to Rivendell, and I fear the same might happen to the others.

Therefore I have rewritten the tale so that I am no longer present in Middle Earth. Would you ensure that the story is copied and told so that the rumor of my "death" is spread? If enough people hear it, they might start to believe it and leave the Shire alone.

I know you and Queen Arwen were disappointed that Iris and I chose to remain in the Shire instead of coming to Minas Tirith. Your offer to become your councilor was very gracious. I accept, but will remain here in the Shire. Perhaps some day some of us will make the long journey South to visit. Or perhaps you and your lovely Queen will come North to reestablish a royal city in Arnor. Bag End is not as elegant or sophisticated as Minas Tirith, but I know you have slept in far worse locations. We would be honored to have you as our guests any time you wish to come. I do need a little bit of a warning, so that the Shire border patrols allow you inside.

As for myself, I am content for the most part. I still endure bad days when the memories and pain threaten to overwhelm me. But with the help of my beloved wife and physician, your dear Queen's pendant, and my dearest soul mate, Sam, I am finally "home." I spend my days organizing and translating the Elvish histories Bilbo began. They are a jumbled mess. I do not know if I will ever succeed at the task, but I shall continue to plug away at it.

I wrote a little adventure book for a Hobbiton lad, and now must write two more for his sisters and another for a neighboring family. It has become the fashion in Hobbiton to own a child's adventure book. Sam has already asked me to oversee Elanor's education, and the Underhill children come once a week to the little classroom I have set up at Bag End #3 to learn their letters. Perhaps I am destined to be a teacher. I can think of no more noble profession.

Ah – I hear Rosie putting the kettle on to boil in the kitchen. She is well along with her second child and is up early. Sam will soon have a son to add to our joint family. Yule has started, and I must away to awaken my bride with her gift.

May joy precede and contentment follow your footsteps, my King and my friend.

Your loyal subject,

Frodo Baggins  
Bag End, The Shire, Arnor


End file.
